


If Anyone Pulls One of Those Sticks on Us, Burn It

by MaiKusakabe



Series: Sticks and Circles [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, F/M, FMA Big Bang 2017, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKusakabe/pseuds/MaiKusakabe
Summary: After an incident with a rogue alchemist, Roy and Olivier find themselves in a strange place and in need of a way back. Their misadventure will open the door to some of the greatest changes Amestris has seen in a long time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, the posting period for the FMA Big Bang has arrived! :D It will last until November 19th, and, as this is a long fic, my idea is to post a new chapter every 2-4 days, depending mainly on my schedule.
> 
> My partner for the event is [wls-arts](http://wls-arts.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, who also beta read the story and has been a joy to work with :) I’ll let you guys know when the art is posted! :D
> 
> Well, here we go. Olivier/Roy Harry Potter crossover. I hope you like it.

~~~~Roy went motionless the moment he snapped awake, his battle instincts coming to life at the feel of the hard ground —a sidewalk, it felt like a sidewalk— under his body. He listened attentively, but there was nothing to be heard aside from some distant traffic and the soft rustle of leaves. There was no sound that would signal the presence of people around him.

Maybe a minute later Roy was reasonably convinced that there was nobody with him. He cracked an eye open.

Roy was greeted by the sight of a darkened alleyway filled with a few trees and lined by walls on one side and what might be a row of garden fences on the other. It was clearly night, but aside from the moonlight, there was only faint street light bathing the area. It came from both ends of the alley, as the alley itself had no street lamps.

He sat up gingerly, holding back a sigh of relief when no part of his body protested the movement, and looked around.

Roy wasn’t alone after all.

Olivier Armstrong lay, unconscious, a few metres away. She didn’t appear to be injured, and she was still clad in the blue dress she had been wearing... tonight.

Roy glanced down at himself to confirm that he was still wearing his best suit.

“Lieutenant General?” Roy called out softly. He didn’t approach her, just in case Olivier’s battle instincts kicked in as well. He enjoyed being alive.

Olivier’s eyes shot open and she took in her surroundings. Her sharp gaze settling on Roy, she sat up as well.

“Mustang? What the hell happened?”

“I’m not certain. Last I remember, we were walking through a run-down library. Whatever happened, we clearly haven’t been attacked,” Roy said, raising his right hand to show her one of the intact ignition gloves he was still wearing.

Olivier felt around the ground with her hands and frowned.

“Where is my gun?” She stood up to look around the alleyway and her frown deepened.

Roy stood up as well and reached under his jacket for his own gun, still secured in its holster.

“Here,” Roy said, offering it to her.

Olivier took it with a curt nod and looked around again.

It was then that they heard voices coming from one end of the alley. Tensing up, they both moved to hide behind a large tree. Roy was ready to snap his fingers, and he heard Olivier switch off the safety of the gun.

“He cheeked me,” one of the voices said, the first words Roy could make out.

“Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that’s been taught to walk on its hind legs? Cause that’s not cheek, Dud, that’s true,” another replied in clear mocking.

They didn’t sound like a threat, but Roy didn’t relax.

The owners of the voices turned a corner and the light from the other street backlit them in a way that prevented Roy from seeing any of their features. All he could tell was that they were two men, one wide enough that he might have trouble walking and the other lanky.

 “Think you’re a big man carrying that thing, don’t you?” the first man, the large one, asked. Roy was starting to think they might actually be just teenagers.

“What thing?”

“That-that thing you are hiding.”

Olivier glanced sideways at Roy with a raised eyebrow, and Roy returned the gesture. Was the lanky boy hiding a weapon?

“Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I suppose, if you were, you wouldn’t be able to walk and talk at the same time,” the lanky boy said in an even more mocking way than before, and he pulled out... a stick. Or at least it looked like a stick from Roy’s position. It was certainly too thin to be any kind of knife.

The other boy turned his head sideways.

“You’re not allowed,” he said, and he sounded scared. “I know you’re not. You’d get expelled from that freak school you go to.”

 _Definitely teenagers,_ Roy thought.

“How do you know they haven’t changed the rules, Big D?” the lanky boy asked.

“Kid’s looking for a fight,” Olivier muttered under her breath. She had lowered her arms somewhat, but she was still ready to shoot.

“They haven’t,” the large boy insisted, sounding unsure, and the lanky boy laughed. “You haven’t got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?”

Roy relaxed. They were just two boys who might or might not start a brawl, but they weren’t enemies. Certainly not the alchemist he and Olivier had been trying to arrest.

Roy tapped Olivier on the shoulder and pointed in both directions of the alley when she looked at him. He had no idea where to go, he didn’t recognise the area, so he thought he could leave the choice up to her. That way she wouldn’t blame him if they went the wrong way. Perhaps.

The boys were still arguing, coming closer to their position.

“Do you think they’ll start fighting?” Olivier asked conversationally, not bothering to keep her voice down anymore. The boys didn’t seem to hear her.

“Maybe,” Roy said, leaning his back against the tree trunk. “Do you want to stop them?” he teased.

Olivier scoffed.

“We could ask them for directions,” she said.

The boys had stopped a few metres away from them and looked as if they were squaring off against each other.

“Oi, brats!” Olivier snapped, stepping out from behind the tree when the large boy was mocking the other about nightmares —that was a low blow, in Roy’s very experienced opinion. Roy followed Olivier.

The boys startled and turned around to look at them.

“Who’re you?” the large boy asked rudely, a very bad move when one was dealing with Olivier Armstrong.

“None of your business,” Olivier snapped, and the boy took a step back, his eyes widening. She had clearly glared at him, then. “We need directions.”

“To where?” the other boy, who had hurried to put the stick away for some reason, asked cautiously. He didn’t look afraid like his most-likely-not-friend.

“That depends. Where are we?”

The boys blinked.

“What?” asked the scrawny one, confused.

Roy chose to intervene before Olivier snapped their necks for being too slow on the uptake. She certainly couldn’t have much patience left tonight.

“I’m afraid we’re a bit lost at the moment. Could you tell us where we are?” he asked politely.

The large boy snorted derisively.

“You’re _lost_? What kind of morons get lost _here_?”

Roy found out that he didn’t have enough patience left himself when Olivier advanced on the boy and he didn’t even move to try to stop her. It had been a hard day, and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with rude, entitled brats who knew nothing about the world.

Before Olivier could do anything more than being her intimidating self, the scrawny boy spoke again with a frown on his face.

“You’re in Little Whinging, between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk.”

Olivier glanced back at Roy, her expression saying she hadn’t heard of the place either. It seemed they were no longer in the same area of Central (Roy would be surprised, but he remembered the horrible sensation he had felt once, when Pride had forced him through a transmutation circle that had transported him straight to Father’s lair).

“In what area?” Olivier asked.

The boys glanced at each other, no trace of their animosity left, before the scrawny one responded with hesitance.

“Surrey?” he offered, and he was looking at them oddly, as though he couldn’t believe they didn’t know that.

It was disturbing, and Roy felt worry growing in his gut as he realised that, whatever had happened, they hadn’t just been dumped in a street halfway across town. He remembered the five disappearances the alchemist they were after was suspected of.

Cold trickled down Roy’s back and he startled, his right hand poised to snap without a conscious thought. For some reason, he could hear screams and words in his head, ones usually reserved for his nightmares.

“ _You’re the last one, old man. Do you have any last words?_ ”

 

* * *

 

 

The cold caught Olivier off guard. It was a warm night —far warmer than it had been before they entered that damn house— and she had been trying to find meaning to the way the kids were reacting when a piercing cold stabbed her, raising goose bumps all over her skin.

Everything had gone dark.

She turned to look around, raising her gun (the kids gasped, but she ignored them), to find the source of the cold, and her eyes caught sight of Roy. He was in a ready stance to start snapping his fingers, but despite the darkness Olivier could tell that he was far too tense. She couldn’t make out his face, though.

_What the hell?_

“W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!” the large kid demanded in terror.

“I’m not doing anything! Shut up and don’t move!” the scrawny kid replied. It brought up some interesting questions —was the scrawny kid an alchemist?— but this was not the time to think about them.

“I c-can’t see! I’ve g-gone blind! I—”

“I said shut up!”

“Both of you, shut up!” Olivier ordered. A difficult situation was _not_ the time or place for bickering children. She opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on, but then she caught sight of someone.

Or some _thing_.

“Who’s there?” Olivier demanded, training her gun on the newcomer.

The being didn’t reply, instead advancing towards them. It drew rattling breaths as it moved, and wore a long, billowing cloak. She couldn’t make out any features in the darkness, just a tall outline.

“W-What’s hap-pening?!” the large kid asked, even more terrified, and Olivier heard stumbling, followed by a short scuffle. “LET GO!” the kid yelled.

There was a snap and one of Roy’s flames lit the alleyway, finally showing what was going on. Roy had the large kid held against a wall —had the idiot tried to flee when he didn’t know the situation?— and the kid was frozen, staring in horror at the fire above Roy’s free hand. The scrawny kid had his stick raised, and he glanced sideways at Roy, but he didn’t seem nearly as scared or surprised as the other one was. As for the being... even with the light, it was difficult to tell apart many features, but Olivier caught sight of a hand. A misshapen, decaying hand. The being was still moving.

She fired.

The being flinched, stumbled, and continued to advance as though its chest hadn’t just been pierced by a bullet.

Olivier had a sudden flashback to the white dolls from the Promised Day, to Sloth and that horrible fight that never ended no matter how many times Olivier killed him, to Father...

Next to her, the scrawny kid yelled something, but Olivier didn’t listen to him.

She grit her teeth and fired again, this time aiming at the head.

Another snap, and fire engulfed the thing.

The thing emerged from the fire, slower than before but still moving. It should have been burnt to a crisp. The fire had worked on the dolls, it had worked on _homunculi_. Olivier shot again.

“There’s another one,” Roy hissed, and Olivier cursed. She couldn’t see it, which meant it was at their back. On this narrow alley, unless they took off through one of the gardens...

Again, the lanky kid yelled something, but this time a bright, silver light burst out past Olivier, and she saw it take the form of a huge stag that, somehow, drove the thing away in a way that neither bullets nor fire had managed to do.

“THIS WAY!” the kid yelled, and the stag turned around, heading towards the other end of the alley. “GET IT!”

And then, suddenly, the dim light of night was back. Streetlamps, stars, the moon... The trees were visible again, and Olivier could make out the shapes of the nearest fences. There was no trace of the silver stag left.

Roy’s flame vanished, but neither of them lowered their guard. There might be more of those things around.

Olivier glanced back at the lanky kid, who still had the stick raised. He was sweaty and had a scared but determined look on his face. That, at least, spoke well for the kid’s character.

“Good job,” Olivier said with a curt nod.

“W-What was t-that?” the other kid, who was curled up on the floor on the same spot where Roy had left him, asked in terror, cutting Olivier’s question before she could speak (the same one, but for a very different reason). “What did you do?!”

“I drove the dementors away,” the lanky kid said, annoyed.

 

* * *

 

 

Dudley was confused, to say the least. Well, he was terrified, but he didn’t want to admit it. There had been _something_ in the alley. At first, Dudley had thought it was Harry doing whatever had happened with the sudden cold, but then Harry and the two freaks in the fancy clothes had started attacking thin air (a _gun_ , the woman had a _gun_ , and the man had created fire out of nowhere —Dudley shuddered).

Mrs. Figg, the old woman his parents usually asked to babysit Harry when they went anywhere, showed up before Dudley could get any answers, and things just turned weirder and weirder. He had always thought Mrs. Figg was a bit out of her mind, but it turned out she was one of _them_ too. She had arrived telling Harry to keep _the thing_ out and muttering about killing someone. When she noticed the two weirdoes, she thought they were normal people (as if!), but Harry confirmed that they were freaks too.

And now Dudley was barely managing to trudge along with this strange group while Mrs. Figg and Harry talked about that Dumbly-guy and what had happened. The other two were silently looking around, and the woman hadn’t bothered to put the gun away. For once in his life, Dudley chose to stay close to Harry.

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier and Roy had agreed to accompany the group when the woman —who was so agitated she was barely holding herself together— had suggested it, even if she had muttered something about ‘who goes around without a wand?’ when Roy had told her that no, they didn’t have them (Olivier had guessed she meant the stick). Harry, the lanky kid, was the only one with one, and for some reason he seemed reluctant to keep it out in case there were more of those dementors around.

Olivier was listening in on the conversation between Harry and Mrs. Figg, even if she didn’t understand much of what was going on at the time. It was clear, though, that Harry was in some sort of danger, and someone called Dumbledore was very invested in keeping him safe.

 _Trouble, clearly_ , Olivier thought. She glanced sideways at Roy, who was listening to the conversation and keeping an eye out for any threats as well. He appeared calm, too calm, and Olivier had no problem recognising one of his many masks when she saw one. Whatever had happened back in the alley had unsettled him greatly, but he seemed to have put it aside for now.

There was a loud crack while Mrs. Figg was speaking, and Olivier trained her gun on a dishevelled man who had _appeared out of nowhere_ and smelt strongly of alcohol.

“MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!” Mrs. Figg shrieked, walking up to the man.

 _So_ this _is the missing guard_ , Olivier thought, thoroughly unimpressed by what she was seeing. Mundungus pathetically attempted to excuse his disappearance, and the situation eventually devolved into Mrs. Figg repeatedly hitting him with her shopping bag before ordering him off to inform that Dumbledore person of the situation.

Just like he had come, Mundungus disappeared.

It took all of Olivier’s self-control to keep her composure at the disappearance, even as she glanced down at the ground to check for a transmutation circle that wasn’t there. She remembered well how Izumi Curtis had suddenly disappeared shortly after the fight with Sloth, but this clearly wasn’t the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Arabella Figg was not having a good day. She was going to _kill_ Mundungus if Dumbledore didn’t do it himself.

Dementors in Surrey! Who would have expected that? She had thought the dementors hadn’t sided with You-Know-Who yet.

But, aside from that, she wasn’t sure what to think about the two strange, wand-less people that had helped fight the dementors off. Arabella was inclined to believe they weren’t enemies, given that Death Eaters wouldn’t have protected Harry Potter _or_ his muggle cousin, but she would feel more comfortable once they had successfully crossed the wards at the Dursleys’ house.

And, who knew, maybe they would be willing to believe in Harry’s story about You-Know-Who’s return after witnessing the dementors’ attack. Merlin knew the Order needed as many allies as it could get.

Finally, number four of Privet Drive came into sight.

“I’ll take you to the door,” Arabella told Harry, pondering how best to ask the two strangers to accompany her to her house and wait there until someone could talk to them.

“You’re leaving them?” the blonde woman asked, clearly unimpressed.

“They live here,” Arabella explained as they entered the garden. The wards didn’t react.

“And? They were just attacked and you want to leave them in an unprotected house?” the woman retorted brusquely, and Arabella was both impressed and slightly intimidated. She wasn’t surprised, though, because she was talking to someone who had faced dementors with only _a muggle gun_ without any hesitation.

Arabella nearly said that the house did have protections and that she needed to go home in case she received new instructions, but she stopped herself. The woman had a point. Dementors might not be able to cross the wards, but there was no way that the Dursleys wouldn’t notice something had happened and jump to the worst possible conclusion. Arabella had already blown her cover, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t wanted to have _words_ with the Dursleys for a while now.

Besides, instructions could reach her here just as easily as at home.

“You’re right, I should stay. Would you mind staying with us? Some friends of mine will likely want to ask you two about what happened tonight.”

The woman glanced back at the man, and they exchanged a look that Arabella couldn’t decipher. It was the man who nodded.

 

* * *

 

 

What happened once they reached number four was odd enough that Harry started to think this night might just rate amongst the oddest ones he had lived through, and that was saying something.

Aunt Petunia opened the door shortly after Mrs. Figg rang the bell, and she stared at them uncomprehendingly for a moment before her eyes caught sight of Dudley’s too pale face. She rushed to him and started checking him over and asking what was wrong. Dudley surprised Harry with his words.

“T-There was a... a thing. O-One of theirs,” Dudley replied softly, clearly still affected by the dementors. It wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t even an outright attempt to get Harry in trouble, but of course it had a similar effect.

Aunt Petunia whirled on Harry.

“What did you do to my son?” she demanded.

“Saved his worthless ass.”

Silence followed the statement, and everybody turned to look at the woman in the blue dress. She was frowning, as intimidating as Harry had thought her since she had approached them in the alley, and the gun was no longer in her hand. Harry caught sight of the man’s face next to her, a barely-there smirk quirking his lips.

“Who are you?” Aunt Petunia demanded brusquely, and Harry replied before the woman decided to pull the gun out from wherever she had stashed it.

“She’s a witch,” Harry said, and Aunt Petunia paled. “She and her friend helped us fight the dementors.”

Even though it should be impossible, Aunt Petunia’s face lost even more colour.

“D-Dementors?” she stammered out, and Harry had the very odd feeling that, somehow, Aunt Petunia _knew_ what a dementor was.

“You know what they are, don’t you?” Mrs. Figg asked, confirming Harry’s thought, and Aunt Petunia turned to look at her. Comprehension dawned on her face.

“You’re one of _them_ ,” Aunt Petunia hissed accusingly.

Mrs. Figg scoffed.

“Of course I am. You didn’t think we’d leave Harry unwatched, did you? Now, why don’t we go talk inside before the neighbours start wondering what’s going on?”

Harry had never thought Aunt Petunia would willingly allow wizards into her house, but that was exactly what happened after Mrs. Figg spoke.

 

* * *

 

 

Roy looked around as they were led through an extremely clean hallway into an equally clean kitchen. He wasn’t sure what was going on, the talk about wands, witches and _magic_ was impossible at best and crazy at worst, but he appreciated the chance to focus on anything other than the horrible memories that had come out of nowhere during the fight against those dementors.

(For a moment Roy would have sworn that he could smell burnt flesh back in that alley.)

Soon something else distracted Roy from the talk about magic. A very large man waddled into the kitchen and started asking the shocked boy (Dud-something, but Roy was reasonably certain they were using nicknames) about what had happened. These adults were clearly his parents, and the scene would have been heart-warming if they weren’t so adamant on blaming the other boy, Harry, for their son’s condition.

Mrs. Figg wasn’t having any of it and she started yelling at the parents.

Then an _owl_ flew into the kitchen, straight towards Harry, carrying a letter, and the large man started screaming about how he didn’t want owls in his house, slamming the kitchen window shut as he did. Mrs. Figg snapped at him to shut up and they were off again.

“Why send a letter when there’s a phone in the hallway?” Olivier muttered, her voice covered by the yells.

Roy shrugged.

Harry was ignoring everybody and had ripped the envelope open. Roy saw his face morph into a mask of dread and dejection as he read the letter. Then Harry jerked, as if startled, pulled his wand out and turned towards the kitchen door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the large man yelled. “I haven’t finished with you, boy!”

“Oh, yes, you have!” Mrs. Figg yelled back at the same time as Harry spoke.

“Get out of the way.”

“You’re going to stay here and explain how my son—”

“If you don’t get out of the way I’m going to jinx you,” Harry threatened, raising the wand.

Next to Roy, Olivier smirked, clearly entertained.

“You can’t pull that one on me!” the man snarled. “I know you’re not allowed to use it outside that madhouse you call a school!”

“The madhouse has chucked me out,” said Harry. “So I can do whatever I—“

“What?!” Mrs. Figg yelled, horrified. “They can’t expel you!”

Olivier scoffed.

“They’re expelling you for defending yourself? That’s pathetic.”

For the first time since they entered the house, Roy and Olivier became the focus of everybody’s attention. Before anybody could say anything, there was a loud crack.

Roy raised his right arm, fingers poised to snap, Olivier drew the gun from her thigh holster, the family shrieked and ducked for cover, Mrs. Figg frowned and Harry looked around with his wand still raised.

There was an owl perched on the windowsill on the other side of the closed window. It had a piece of what looked like parchment tied to its leg.

Harry rushed to open the window as the large man started going on about owls again. Roy remained ready to snap his fingers; as far as he knew, there was something out there trying to kill Harry, and Roy didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of leaving a child unprotected. Olivier trained the gun on the window.

“A gun!” the large kid’s mother shrieked in terror, pulling her son back. The father stepped before his family, his face missing all colour.

Harry glanced back, his eyes opening in shock when he saw Roy and Olivier, but he took a step sideways and out of direct sight from outside. Roy and Olivier lowered their arms.

“It’s fine,” Mrs. Figg told them softly while Harry opened his letter. “This house is warded, nobody can get to Harry here.”

Roy held back the impulse of asking what she meant by ‘warded’ and nodded instead, trying to appear as though he understood what she was talking about.

Harry glanced up at Mrs. Figg.

“It’s from Mr. Weasley,” he frowned. “He says Dumbledore is trying to fix things,” he said dubiously, then glanced at Roy and Olivier, “and he asks if you two can stay here until Dumbledore can come by tomorrow. Do you two know Dumbledore?”

“We’ve never met him,” Olivier said nonchalantly.

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier could hear the continued yelling from the kitchen. Instead of replying one way or another to the request in Harry’s letter, she had said they needed to use the phone and had left the kitchen, ignoring the protests from the family.

“Where the hell are we?” she hissed, looking down at the phonebook they had found next to the strangely-shaped phone, the contents of which made absolutely no sense.

“Well,” Roy started, crouching down. He rummaged through the shelf at the bottom of the hallway table and brought out what looked like a handful of maps. “Let’s find out.”

They didn’t find out. Neither of them could make heads or tails of any of the maps full of unfamiliar names and shapes.

From the kitchen, they could hear the complaints over the arrival of a new owl.

“This makes no sense,” Olivier muttered, tapping one of the maps. “This area,” she gestured at the islands depicted, “has got to be reasonably large, but I’ve never heard of a ‘United Kingdom’ before.”

“Neither have I,” Roy said with a frown.

“Where the hell did that array dump us?”

“I guess we’ll have to figure it out,” Roy said, reaching inside his suit jacket. Before Olivier could snap a scathing comment, he pulled out a small notebook. It was similar in size to the one he usually carried around, but it wasn’t that one.

Olivier smirked.

“You stole that guy’s notes?”

“Confiscated,” Roy corrected, flicking the notebook open. “This can’t be his entire research, though; it looks more like jotted down thoughts and reminders.”

“Now’s a good chance for you to prove you’re as smart as you like to boast.”

“Oh, dear me. Is that _faith_ in my skills I hear?” Roy asked teasingly and Olivier snorted.

“It’s not like if have any competent alchemist around.”

Roy’s smile didn’t vanish, and he leant his back against the wall.

“What do we do for now? Should we stay here and wait for this Dumbledore to show up?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice,” Olivier reluctantly admitted, settling next to him. “We barely know anything about this place, and what we do know is... disconcerting.”

“So we wait, see what we can learn, and leave?”

Olivier nodded.

“Don’t lower your guard. If anyone pulls one of those sticks on us, burn it,” she ordered.

“That’s exactly what I intended to do.”

On the background, Olivier could hear even _more_ yelling as a fourth owl arrived.

 

* * *

 

 

Arabella Figg finally left the Dursleys’ house after a harrowing discussion. She was glad to have been present, because she didn’t want to imagine how Vernon Dursley would have reacted without her there to inform him that wizards were keeping an eye on them.

Finally the two strangers had decided to stay, much to the Dursleys’ dismay. The Dursleys hadn’t dared to argue, though, not since Petunia’s eyes travelled to where the blonde woman had pulled her gun from earlier. Petunia had even offered them the guest room, albeit extremely ungraciously.

Arabella belatedly realised that she hadn’t asked for their names.

Oh, well, she could still write to Dumbledore to tell him everything she knew. She suspected these two would make good allies; at the very least, they had amazing reflexes, judging by how quickly they had reacted when the second owl had arrived.

 

* * *

 

 

As Harry climbed up the stairs, he sullenly thought that he would have found this situation hilarious if he wasn’t so frustrated by the absolute lack of information about what had happened tonight. The Dursleys were hiding downstairs, waiting until their unwanted guests had gone to bed before heading upstairs. It was clear the only reason they had agreed to let the man and the woman stay was that they were too scared to refuse.

Harry had been sent to his room without supper as soon as everybody else from the wizarding world had left the kitchen, but he didn’t care. Food was the last thing on his mind right now.

Harry stopped. He needed to go to the bathroom, but the door was closed. Harry heard water running inside before it went silent and the door opened. The man stepped out and for just a moment he looked surprised to find Harry there.

“Your name is Harry, isn’t it? Can I ask you for something?” he asked politely, stepping fully into the hallway.

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised that this man hadn’t recognised the _oh-so-famous_ Harry Potter.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry replied, trying to be polite. Harry reminded himself that this man had helped him, that maybe he wouldn’t have managed to cast the _patronus_ in time if he and the woman hadn’t delayed the dementors.

“Do you have a newspaper? Or anything to read, really. I’m not sure I’ll manage to sleep after that encounter with the dementors,” the man said, self-deprecation in his voice at the admission.

Harry understood. He was reasonably certain he would manage to fall asleep (he had suffered from nightmares since the start of the summer, so today wouldn’t be very different), but he knew that many people would have it difficult after running into dementors.

Unfortunately, Harry had no chocolate to offer.

“I only have this summer’s newspapers and my old school books,” he replied.

The man smiled.

“That’s better than nothing.”

Harry nodded, asked the man to wait a moment and went into his room. He grabbed a handful of the more recent newspapers and, after considering his school books (because he wasn’t letting the ones about quidditch out of his room), he picked up the Charms tomes. If Harry had to reread any of his school books, revising old charms was the least boring prospect. He figured the woman might have trouble sleeping too, so he took all four books.

 

* * *

 

“What did you get?” Olivier asked as soon as Roy closed the door behind him. Roy had been lurking in the bathroom for the last ten minutes with the express intention of getting some useful reading material from whoever climbed the stairs first.

“Recent newspapers and some school books,” Roy replied. He walked up to the bed and sat next to Olivier. Setting the books aside, he picked up a random newspaper.

Olivier leant into his shoulder to have a better look at it and blinked.

“Is that picture... _moving_?”

 

* * *

 

 

“Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong! We’ve secured the house!” Sergeant Major Denny Brosh announced with a sharp salute.

“The generals?” Alex asked, though he didn’t expect good news. Olivier would be yelling at everyone if she was here.

Brosh shook his head.

“We found Lieutenant General Armstrong’s gun, but that’s it. However…” Brosh hesitated for a moment. “It was next to a rug, and Jenkins noticed a pattern on that rug.”

Alex didn’t like how that sounded.

“What kind of pattern?”

“We’re not sure, but we think it might be an array.”

Alex froze. His first impulse was to charge towards the car where they had secured the prisoner, but he shook himself.

“I’ll go have a look. Take charge here, Sergeant Major Brosh.”

Alex marched towards the house. Olivier and Roy had gone in first, and nobody had seen them since. Their prisoner had been positively _giddy_ since Alex caught him, but he hadn’t answered a single question so far.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I’m really happy to see you guys like this story so far :) I have to admit I was worried between the pairing and the crossover.
> 
> Here I am with chapter 2! Let’s hope you like it too :)

It wasn’t until after they had heard everybody else in the house head to bed that Roy and Olivier put down the newspapers. Once the original shock over the moving pictures had passed, they had decided to split the papers between the two of them to scan them faster.

“This is a rag,” Roy commented, setting aside the paper from the fifteenth of July (because they had somehow gone from spring to summer on top of everything else). For every article that could be considered real news, there were at least ten of nonsense and gossip.

“A propaganda rag,” Olivier agreed. “They seem really invested in praising this Minister of theirs.”

“It’s reminiscent of Bradley’s days, don’t you think?”

“Unfortunately. Let’s just hope there’s no Father around here,” Olivier said and Roy grimaced. “At least we do have some useful information,” she pointed out. “I’d say the kid, Harry, is a _wizard_ ,” she spoke the word with great reluctance, “and the family are what the papers call _muggles_.”

Roy nodded in agreement. From what he had read, and the events they had witnessed earlier, it was clear that there was some animosity between the two groups. Or at least with those muggles who knew about magic. From the way some articles were written one would think muggles were dim little creatures who didn’t notice what happened around them.

“Anyway, we should probably try to sleep,” Olivier said, standing up.

“I’m not really tired, I think I’ll look over the books,” Roy said, and he wasn’t surprised when Olivier threw him a sceptical look over her shoulder.

“Of course, and it doesn’t have anything to do with whatever happened back in the alley, does it?” she asked drily, gesturing him over.

Sighing, Roy stood up and walked up to her.

“I’m not sure w _hat_ happened, but I... I remembered some unpleasant things,” Roy admitted, focusing on lowering the zip of Olivier’s dress when she turned her back to him. He slid his hands up her back to reach the straps of the dress. “You know, when I saw you in this dress, I expected to remove it in a very different situation.”

“I’m aware. You’re not as subtle as you like to think you are,” Olivier retorted. She turned around as soon as the dress was on the floor, her visible eyebrow raised (despite having given in to her family’s insistence to put on a dress for parties a couple years ago, Olivier still refused to do her hair in any way other than her usual style). ”How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be fine,” Roy replied truthfully. “It wasn’t anything I haven’t thought of lately, I simply wasn’t expecting it.”

Olivier scanned his face with her piercing gaze before nodding.

“You should get out of those clothes,” she said, moving to the bed.

Roy glanced down at himself.

“Speaking of clothes,” he said, removing his jacket, “I probably should transmute these into something that’ll draw less attention. Or maybe the bed sheets.” Roy had checked them earlier, and they were made of cotton, which worked well enough for this season.

“Do both. We’ll need a change of clothes,” Olivier said.

Roy turned to set first his jacket and then his shirt on the desk’s chair. His pants followed.

“You weren’t the only one who expected this night to go differently,” Olivier said suddenly, and Roy turned around to look at her. She had set both her bra and gun on the nightstand and he held back a sigh. What a lost chance.

“Oh? Did you have something in mind?”

“Maybe.”

 

* * *

 

 

This bed was large enough for two people, though it couldn’t hold a candle to the luxurious bed in Olivier’s bedroom that Roy had spent his entire train ride from East City daydreaming about.

Olivier was now asleep, curled on the side of the bed closest to the nightstand and with her hair brushing Roy’s thigh. He had chosen one of the books, _The Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_ , and was sitting with it angled in a way that the light from the lamp on the nightstand shone on the parchment pages.

For the third time in so many minutes, he went back to the introductory section, where the author spoke of the advantages of learning spells with a wand for an easier use. Which meant a wand wasn’t _necessary_ to cast magic. Roy glanced down at his gloved left hand. Hadn’t Harry mistaken his alchemy for magic? (And Roy wasn’t thinking about the absurdity of magic or what he had read, much less of watching a man appear and disappear into thin air, thank you).

Glancing down to ensure that Olivier was still asleep because he knew he wouldn’t live this down otherwise if nothing happened, Roy raised his left hand in the direction of their clothes, then looked down at the page that showed the first spell.

‘ _Pronunciation is key_ ’ the author insisted repeatedly. Roy double-checked the spelling depiction.

“ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” he muttered under his breath. One of his pant legs shivered on the chair before settling down again.

There were no air currents in the room.

“Huh.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fuhrer Grumman leant back in his chair, looking at a bland painting across his office.

Today had started as just another anniversary of the Promised Day. Olivier Armstrong had marched into Central Command clad in her formal uniform, glaring daggers at whoever crossed her path to storm into Grumman’s office and commandeer his coffee and snacks until her presence was required for the first of the many formal acts of the day. Roy had arrived shortly after in a night train from East City, accompanied by Riza. He had looked like he hadn’t slept all night and brought the Elrics’ yearly excuse as to why they couldn’t make it to the celebration: Alphonse had returned to Xing shortly after Edward’s wedding, and Edward didn’t feel comfortable leaving his pregnant wife alone, even though Grumman knew Mrs. Elric was just three months along. Roy had entered Grumman’s office carrying a suitcase that held his formal uniform. Usually Grumman didn’t miss a chance to tease Roy and Olivier about their semi-public relationship, but on this day he knew better; if he wasn’t stabbed, he’d be burnt to a crisp. So, instead, he had left them in his office and had dragged Riza off for breakfast. He didn’t have many chances to spend time with his granddaughter, and he took advantage of every single one of them.

Afterwards, the day had proceeded as usual. The parades, honouring the fallen from that day (the fact that Bradley was always mentioned first never lost its irony), speeches, the formal lunch, more speeches and, finally, the less militaristic evening party.

But from then…

Grumman focused back on the here and now.

“Nothing?” he asked Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong, who was sitting across from him and doing his best to appear calm.

“No, sir. The library is a mess, and we are still trying to obtain a clear outline of the array, but it’s a slow process.”

“And the prisoner?”

Armstrong shook his head.

“Captain Hawkeye has been interrogating him for hours, but he has said very little. He seems, however, very pleased that Brigadier General Mustang was at his house.”

Grumman hummed. That was vague; it could as easily mean that this alchemist held a grudge against Roy or that he believed Roy’s involvement with his research might prove useful.

“Are they alive, then?”

Armstrong clenched his hands.

“He _thinks_ so. But that is all he’ll say.”

“Well, we can’t have our national heroes missing,” Grumman said, twisting his moustache. “Whatever you need, Lieutenant Colonel, just ask for it.”

“I’d like to bring in some help, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier woke up to find her bra floating above her head. She blinked and shot her hand out to the nightstand to grab the gun. She sat up and looked around the room, but the only one there besides herself was Roy. Roy, who was looking at her and smirking in amusement.

“ _Mustang_ ,” Olivier hissed, lowering the gun. “What the hell?”

“This has instructions,” Roy said, gesturing at the book on his lap. He waved his left hand in the air and Olivier’s bra did a jaunty little dance as it lowered itself to the bed.

“Instructions,” Olivier repeated, deadpan.

“It’s a spell book,” Roy said easily, ignoring her expression and tone altogether. “You should try it,” he added, offering the book to her.

Olivier bit back the first two scathing comments that came to mind. She had seen too many bizarre things over the past few years to discard any possibility without previous consideration, and yesterday...

“How does it work?”

“The most important part is getting the pronunciation right. Aside from that, I’ve found that aiming your hand at the target makes it easier than just looking at it. Just thinking the words works, too, but it’s harder to obtain any results that way.”

Olivier nodded, then looked down at the open pages.

_A repairing spell?_

“This isn’t to make things float.”

“Oh, no, I mastered that one hours ago,” Roy said, and Olivier looked more closely at him. He had dark circles under his eyes, but the shadows in them were gone. It wasn’t even up to debate whether he had slept at all or not.

Olivier rolled her eyes.

“ _Alchemists_ ,” she muttered. “Whatever, be useful and get started on our clothes.”

She held back another eye roll when Roy put on an exaggeratedly hurt expression.

“What? I don’t even get a good morning kiss? I’ve—“

Olivier grabbed him by the nape of his neck and shut him up with a harsh kiss. Roy returned it, his smirk clear against Olivier’s lips for a moment before she parted them and let in his insistent and oh-so-very-skilled tongue.

They eventually parted for air and Olivier frowned.

“There, now get to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roy replied with a smirk.

Olivier would have shoved him onto the bed had they been somewhere safer.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry woke up early that morning and got dressed. He waited until he heard noise in the guest room before climbing down the stairs and going to the kitchen for breakfast. He was sure the Dursleys wouldn’t deny him food again the day after learning they were being watched, much less with a witch and a wizard in the house.

Harry wouldn’t miss what would happen this morning for all the gold in the world.

Aunt Petunia was already downstairs, washing some dishes. Uncle Vernon was eating breakfast at the kitchen table despite the fact that Harry knew he should have left for work already. Dudley wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The Dursleys didn’t tell him a word when Harry went to the fridge, though Uncle Vernon glared at him when he saw the bacon. Harry ignored him, he had already decided to mention his _guard_ whenever things got ugly, and he started to cook his breakfast.

He was almost done piling bacon on his plate when he heard feet moving down the stairs. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tensed up. Harry bit back a smirk and sat at the table to start eating.

The woman walked in first, dressed in dark cargo trousers with large pockets on both sides and a shiny blue short-sleeved t-shirt that clung to her body in a way that Harry couldn’t help but appreciate. She had transfigured the painful-looking high heels from last night into more reasonable flat sandals that didn’t hurt to look at. The man entered right afterwards, dressed in black trousers and a grey short-sleeved t-shirt that had a blue-ish armour depicted on the front of all things. His shoes looked less formal, but were still black leather. Oddly enough, he was wearing white gloves.

They were both carrying backpacks that hadn’t been there last night.

Harry had to give it to them: they were amongst the few wizards he had ever met who seemed to know how to blend in with muggles.

“You didn’t have those bags last night,” Aunt Petunia said, and she looked torn when Harry turned to her. It was as if she didn’t regret her accusatory comment, but was worried about how wizards would react to it.

“Now we do,” the man replied genially, a charming smile on his face. Harry was sure it would have worked on Aunt Petunia if he wasn’t a wizard.

“If you’ve stolen anything—“ Uncle Vernon started, rising to his feet, but the woman cut him off with a snort.

“You’d have to _have_ something worth stealing for that,” she said, walking to the fridge. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were left spluttering indignantly, and Harry stuffed a slice of bacon into his mouth to muffle a snicker.

The man sat next to Harry, an amused smile on his face.

“I left what you lent me on the guest bedroom’s desk,” he told Harry. “Thank you again, it was a good distraction.”

Harry nodded absently, looking at the man. He had shadows under his eyes, but nothing as bad as what Harry got after a sleepless night. The boring going ons of the wizarding world must have lulled him to sleep at some point.

“Oi, Mustang,” the woman called from the fridge and the man —Mustang— turned to look at her, “do you know how to cook or are you too pampered for that?”

“I believe if anyone here were to be too pampered to know how to cook that would be you, my dear Olivier,” Mustang said with a pleasant smile.

The woman —Olivier— whipped around to direct such a glare at him that both Harry and Uncle Vernon recoiled at the sight. Mustang didn’t even lose his smile.

“Get over here, you brat,” Olivier snapped in a way that not even Professor McGonagall would have accomplished in her angriest moments.

Mustang let out a theatrical sigh of suffering and stood up. He caught the package of eggs Olivier threw at him mid-air. They both ignored Aunt Petunia’s horrified shriek at the action and started to move around the kitchen as if it was theirs.

 

* * *

 

 

Albus Dumbledore left Arabella Figg’s house in a pensive mood. Some muggles stopped to stare at him, but he just smiled politely and continued on his way to the Dursleys’ household.

From what Arabella had told him, Albus agreed it was very unlikely that the mysterious witch and wizard worked for Tom, but everything else made them... interesting. Brave, certainly, for not many people would stay and fight dementors, much less without a wand (casting a wandless _patronus_ was remarkably difficult, and Albus didn’t know anyone other than himself who could do it). Out of the ordinary, because not many wizards would bother to learn to handle, much less carry around, muggle weapons. Wandless fire spells were difficult, which meant that at the very least the man was powerful. And their appearances...

Albus had asked Arabella to describe them to the best of her capacity, and they didn’t sound like anyone Albus knew.

_“They’re both very attractive,” Arabella had said with a snort, “and he’s just a little taller than her, but neither of them stand out there. He has dark hair and dark eyes, the sort of guy that would’ve_ definitely _made all the girls sigh at Hogwarts. Around thirty, I’d say. She looked older, late thirties or early forties. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, very pretty and serious. I could’ve mistaken her for some pureblood high class if she hadn’t been carrying a gun.”_

Those descriptions didn’t bring any former Hogwarts students to mind. Albus could easily remember most of his students, especially from the later decades, and he was curious.

Homeschooled, or maybe they had attended another school.

Number four came into sight and Albus rearranged his robes, aware that he would need a good deal of patience to interact with the house’s residents.

He waved at a neighbour who had been watering the same flowers for a full minute, walked up the drive and knocked on the door.

Petunia Dursley opened the door, a scowl on her face that showcased her displeasure, and ushered him inside.

She led Albus to the kitchen, where her husband stood with an angry expression that turned his face red, glaring at a man and a woman who fit Arabella’s description as they calmly finished their breakfast. Harry sat on a chair, watching the entire display with an air of amusement.

Everybody turned to look at him when Albus entered the room, one of his best smiles in place.

Vernon Dursley went from red to purple, Harry looked genuinely surprised to see him here, the woman raised her visible eyebrow and the man returned Albus’ smile with a pleasant one of his own.

“Good morning,” Albus greeted, and didn’t wait for an invitation that he knew wouldn’t come to take a seat on one of the remaining chairs. “My name is Albus Dumbledore,” he said, addressing the man and the woman, “Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” Vernon and Petunia flinched as if they had heard Tom’s alias and took a step back each. “Might I ask for your names? I’m afraid it slipped Arabella’s mind to ask with all the excitement from last night.”

“Are you the idiot who tried to expel the kid for defending himself?” the woman asked brusquely instead of answering, and Albus found himself pleasantly surprised. That wasn’t something a firm believer in the Ministry would ask, and it hinted to a type of mindset that Albus was looking for in these dark times.

“That would be the Minister,” Albus replied easily.  “I had to remind him last night that the Ministry of Magic doesn’t have the authority to expel students from Hogwarts.”

The woman nodded curtly in what Albus thought might be approval. She was a remarkably hard to read person.

“I’m Olivier Armstrong and this is Roy Mustang,” she introduced, gesturing with her right thumb at the man, who nodded politely in greeting.

Armstrong and Mustang, those weren’t wizarding surnames. Muggleborns, then. That explained her comfort with muggle devices.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Albus said. “Could you tell me what happened last night?”

“We were asking the kids for directions when the dementors showed up,” Olivier summarised quickly, then pointed to Harry. “ _He_ drove them away.”

“So I’ve heard,” Albus said. “Arabella mentioned you didn’t have your wands?”

“We don’t,” Roy confirmed, folding his gloved hands on the table before him. “I’m afraid there was a bit of a... mishap that brought us here unexpectedly.”

“Anything I can help you with?” Albus offered, his curiosity piqued. It must have been some type of wandless magic to have brought them here (maybe an experiment?), which only made them even more interesting in Albus’ eyes. A means of transportation that didn’t require a wand, portkey or fireplace was something worth looking into, even if so far it had only been used by accident.

Roy and Olivier exchanged a glance, Olivier nodded and Roy looked back at Albus with a sheepish smile.

“Could you tell us where to acquire new wands for the time being?”

Albus met Roy’s eyes and took the chance to discreetly delve into his mind to have a better idea of how much he could trust these people. He found himself in an endless sea of whiteness with no path deeper into Roy’s mind and backed off immediately, doing his best to keep his surprise in check.

“I’d recommend Ollivander’s, he has an amazing selection of wands to try,” Albus replied amiably, folding his hands on his lap under the table.

Roy nodded, by all appearances unaware of Albus’ attempt to enter his mind, and Albus truly hoped his slip of not even a second had gone unnoticed. Those were the strongest occlumency shields he had ever encountered, even better than Severus’, and Albus’ guess that he was dealing with powerful people was confirmed. He chose not to risk an attempt on Olivier’s mind.

“Of course,” Albus continued as if his mind wasn’t running through endless possibilities, “it’s a bit far from here, and we don’t have a nearby floo access, so you will have to use muggle means to reach Diagon Alley.” Albus wasn’t about to create an illegal portkey no matter how easy it was. If Roy or Olivier were amongst the few who could apparate wandlessly, they didn’t say so. “I believe Harry will be able to give you directions much more accurately than myself,” he added, directing a quick glance in Harry’s general direction.

Harry looked surprised for a moment, but he nodded quickly.

“Yeah, sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Albus left the Dursleys’ house with one last reminder that Hogwarts was open if Roy and Olivier ever needed anything. It had quickly become clear that they wouldn’t share what their experiment had been about and that they intended to return home through their own means. Albus wondered if that experiment had been entirely legal, then chuckled to himself. After meeting them, Albus was nearly convinced that they weren’t dark wizards, and he knew how... restrictive the law sometimes was for creativity.

Albus found the closest alleyway to apparate and shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to think about past experiments.

He apparated outside the school’s gates and opened them.

Olivier Armstrong and Roy Mustang. While muggleborns had been Albus’ first thought, it was also possible they were half-bloods with their muggle parent’s surnames. They didn’t have much of an accent, so Albus was inclined to believe they had been raised in the country, but he would ask Madame Maxime if she had any former students with those names.

Meanwhile, Albus would check the list of potential students whose parents had refused to send to Hogwarts in the past few decades.

In these dark times, any potential ally was worth consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious, Roy’s occlumency shield is Truth’s doing (I kept that one from my other crossover). After all, it wouldn’t make sense to have people pay a toll to cross the Gate if then someone can come and pull that knowledge from their minds.


	3. Chapter 3

Winry rushed down the stairs and snatched the phone up on the fourth ring.

“Elric household,” she greeted, barely remembering on time that this phone was on a separate line from the one at granny’s clinic now.

“Winry?” asked a tired voice she recognised easily.

“Riza!” Winry exclaimed, delighted. She hadn’t seen Riza since the wedding. “How are you?”

“Not… very well,” Riza admitted, worry joining the exhaustion in her voice. “Is Edward around? We have an emergency.”

“Oh… yeah, sure,” Winry said, worry worming its way into her gut. Riza was one of the best people Winry knew when it came to staying calm. If she was failing at it now…

Winry set the receiver on the table and walked to the bottom of the stairs.

“ED! PHONE!” she yelled.

Ed was awake already; he always jumped out of bed and fretted worriedly over Winry and her morning sickness, and when she stopped throwing up he rushed off to put together one of the breakfasts that didn’t upset Winry’s stomach. He never even grumbled about it.

“If it’s Mustang looking for an excuse to avoid an event, tell him I’m busy!” Ed yelled down.

Winry shook her head. Brigadier General Mustang had made it a habit to call Ed whenever he couldn’t deal with his paperwork anymore. Last year, he had even called during the anniversary to pretend he was busy and avoid the formal lunch. The calls were always the same: they bickered, talked alchemy and pretended they weren’t friends and just put up with each other out of boredom.

“It’s Riza!”

Ed’s head appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Hawkeye?”

Ed walked down the stairs with a puzzled expression and picked up the receiver.

“Yeah?” Ed asked less brusquely than he did with most other people. Winry couldn’t hear what Riza was saying, but she saw Ed’s back tense as he listened. “Okay. Get all the goons out of the house, don’t let them touch anything. I’ll be on the first train.” He made a short pause. “And get some sleep, Hawkeye. I’m gonna need you awake to keep idiots away or I’ll punch someone.”

“What happened?” Winry asked as soon as Ed had put the phone down.

Ed didn’t turn around.

“Mustang and Armstrong —Olivier Armstrong— have gone missing because of some nutjob alchemist.”

Winry gasped.

“How?”

Ed shrugged, turning around.

“She didn’t say. Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Winry said, nodding. It wasn’t as if she could help Granny at the clinic anyway; the baby had decided it couldn’t stand the smell of automail oil. She hadn’t worked on an automail in two months. “I’ll go tell granny, you start packing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Roy capped the pen he had borrowed and folded the sheet of paper on which he had been writing.

“Thank you,” he told Harry with a smile. “I believe we shouldn’t have any trouble in reaching Diagon Alley now.” Roy was _extremely curious_ about the means of transportation Harry had called the Tube. An underground train network could prove to be very useful. And Harry, no doubt assuming Roy and Olivier were amongst the wizards unfamiliar with muggles, had been thorough with his explanations without prompting.

The Dursleys, who hadn’t bothered to hide their eagerness for Roy and Olivier to leave their house, had quite derisively told them they could take the maps Harry had used to explain how to reach the city called London and, from there, the Leaky Cauldron. Roy had the sneaking suspicion that the Dursleys would throw the maps away if they remained at the house and, despite the way they had been offered, Roy and Olivier were in no position to refuse them. Following the same assumption, he pocketed the pen.

Roy folded the maps again and stood up, holding them under his arm.

He approached Olivier, who had been pretending to ignore the conversation while she studied the pictures on display around the living room for any useful information.

“We’re ready to go,” he told her, walking up to where she was frowning at a family portrait that very conspicuously lacked Harry’s presence in it.

“Good. I’m getting sick of this house,” Olivier stated, and they both ignored the Dursleys’ indignant reactions. She turned to Harry. “Whatever that lousy government says, you shouldn’t hesitate to protect yourself again if you’re attacked.”

Harry blinked.

“Thank you?” he said with uncertainty. It was hard to tell if you didn’t know Olivier, but that was as close to a compliment to Harry’s reaction from last night as she would give him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Gold is valuable here,” Olivier said once they were walking down the street of boringly identical houses. “That woman was wearing some of it in every picture.”

“Dear me, Lieutenant General,” Roy said, his voice laced with amusement, “you cannot be asking me to break the law.”

Olivier snorted. As if both of them hadn’t done far worse things than transmuting some gold.

“We’re not in Amestris,” she deadpanned.

“We’ll need an empty alleyway. And somewhere to exchange it before we board any public transportation, I’d say.”

 

* * *

 

 

Watching Olivier barter over their gold was a truly gorgeous sight. Without her military uniform she lacked the air that commanded immediate respect whenever she walked into a room, but that was quickly amended by her voice and mannerisms. They had spent their way here looking at shop windows to gauge the value of the local currency, and they left the pawn shop with a reasonable amount of money.

“There was a bookshop a few streets back,” Roy said casually, but that didn’t stop Olivier from snorting.

“I was wondering when you’d say something like that.”

“Oh, don’t be so harsh. I’m sure we can find useful books to bring back to Amestris,” Roy said, gesturing at the street and the sleek, unfamiliar cars speeding past to illustrate his point.

Olivier glanced sideways at him.

“Half an hour, and we stick to technological advancements. Don’t go anywhere near other sciences.”

“I’m reasonably certain there must be interesting discoveries in other scientific fields,” Roy pointed out.

“Yes, but I’d like to make it to this Diagon Alley today, preferably with enough money left.”

 

* * *

 

 

In the end they spent nearly an hour inside the bookshop and left with two bags of densely technical, promising books. Despite her original warning, Olivier pretended that she didn’t notice it when Roy snuck away and returned with four thick volumes, two on physics and two on chemistry. He muttered that there was no alchemy section —Olivier rolled her eyes at this comment— and reasoned it must be considered a wizard field here. He didn’t look pleased by this fact. He at least had the presence of mind to grab a notebook before paying.

They were finally sitting in an impressively fast train headed for the city called London, both of them browsing a book but keeping their attention on their surroundings. Olivier’s book dealt with military advancements during this world’s twentieth century. She hadn’t managed to find much on how to actually build most of these weapons, but she was itching to drop this book off at a laboratory and let the scientists there figure it out.

Roy was, unsurprisingly, immersed in one of the chemistry volumes he wasn’t supposed to have bought in the first place.

Not much happened during the train ride. They were surrounded by workers and families chatting or reading whatever they had brought with them. The atmosphere was relaxed and there was no trace of tension that Olivier could spot, which made her considering the possibility that perhaps muggles were unaware of whatever conflict had resulted in those damn dementors targeting a teenager with his own security detail.

It supported their theory that muggles and wizards stayed apart from each other.

 

* * *

 

 

Roy and Olivier had spotted a couple potential hotels to spend the night at on their way from the station to the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky Cauldron was a shabby and run-down bar in which Roy wouldn’t have stepped foot if he hadn’t know where it led. The inside looked far more well maintained than its façade suggested, though, and there was a considerable difference between the relaxed patrons inside and the pedestrians giving the bar a wide berth outside. While some of the patrons were dressed in recognisable clothes, many of them wore a style that resembled Dumbledore’s eccentric attire.

Acting as though the strange environment was no different from Madam Christmas’ bar, Roy walked up to where the bartender was standing, wiping a mug with a dirty rag that made Roy decide he wasn’t drinking or eating anything here.

“Three o’clock,” Olivier muttered from his side, and Roy glanced in that direction. A man had a bag on his hand and was pulling out some money, money that looked nothing like what Roy and Olivier had acquired earlier.

“I guess a bank is our first stop,” he muttered back.

They reached the bar and Roy put on one of his best smiles to ask the bartender if he could open the access to Diagon Alley for them. Roy had a story about being travellers ready, but it proved to be unnecessary: the bartender showed them the combination to open the brick wall, proving in the process that they would really need wands if they wanted to enter the alley on their own.

As the wall parted on its own, something that _could_ have been accomplished through a transmutation and thus not particularly shocking, Roy thanked the bartender and followed Olivier into Diagon Alley.

The street itself was...

“This looks as if they let Elric decorate the place,” Olivier said. Roy didn’t need to ask which Elric she was talking about.

“I believe Edward would be offended. There aren’t nearly enough gargoyles for his taste.”

Olivier snorted.

“Touché. Let’s go find a bank. My bet is on the fancy white building.”

“It could also be a government building,” Roy reasoned, but even in that case there was bound to be a bank near some official building. One could always find a bank close to them.

As it turned out, the fancy white building _was_ the bank. However, if Olivier made any kind of triumphant gesture, Roy missed it. He was too busy staring at the creature standing guard to one side of the large open doors. It wasn’t a chimera; it had no parts of any animal that Roy could recognise. Or notably human features, for that matter.

“I believe we should add ‘races’ to the magical books list,” Olivier said.

“You think?” Roy asked a bit sarcastically.

Olivier placed a hand on the small of Roy’s back.

“Come on, before someone notices you staring.”

These creatures were all over inside the bank, clearly the ones who ran it, but by the time they stepped inside Roy had put on a politely pleasant mask. There was a counter specifically designated to exchange muggle currency, and they decided to exchange a third of their pounds into galleons, an amount they hoped would be more than enough for their purchases.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m surprised he didn’t kick us out,” Roy said in amusement once they had exited the wand shop with their brand new magic sticks.

“He was having too much fun for that,” Olivier pointed out. She was right, of course. One would expect that Ollivander would have grown frustrated when no wand seemed to meet whatever criteria he used to match them to people, but he had instead become progressively more gleeful with every failed attempt at a match.

“Still, I’m sure he would have appreciated it if you hadn’t kept a running commentary about my person,” Roy said.

“You should’ve thought about that before telling him I scare the crap out of everyone I meet,” Olivier said in a perfectly scornful voice that Roy knew meant she was amused.

“It _helped_ ,” Roy complained a bit theatrically. “It only took him four more attempts to find your wand after that. And then you go and call me _lazy_. I’m not lazy.”

“You go to great lengths to make people believe you are. I figured I could help you with him.”

“I’m pretty sure your _help_ cost us twenty extra minutes,” Roy muttered, but he smiled in amusement. Despite his glee, Ollivander _had_ been growing somewhat frustrated when they made no progress with Roy’s wand. Especially because Roy hadn’t bothered to contradict much of what Olivier had said, no doubt leading Ollivander to believe it was the truth.

In the end, though, Ollivander had seemed pretty impressed with the final matches, and had commented they must be truly exceptional people for those wands to have chosen them.

“Books now?” Roy asked. They had come up with something akin to a shopping list on their way from the train station to the Leaky Cauldron. Wards, because they wanted to know what Arabella had been talking about last night, recent history, a spell book similar to what Harry had lent them, an alchemy one (Roy wanted to see how these people dealt with alchemy) and now races too.

“Let’s go eat something first,” Olivier said. “I don’t trust you to be quick.”

Roy grinned unrepentantly.

“Did you see any decent place to eat?”

Olivier shook her head.

“No. Unless you count ice cream as a decent place.”

Roy hummed.

“I just spotted a sweets shop. It’s as if these people see the Leaky Cauldron as an acceptable restaurant and don’t bother with others.”

“I’m not eating there,” Olivier stated.

“Neither am I. We could always go back out. There were some decent-looking places on the muggle side.”

 

* * *

 

 

Flourish and Blotts was the largest bookshop they had seen in Diagon Alley, and as such the one they headed to after a quick and uneventful meal on the muggle side of the area.

There was a small table piled high with newspapers, and Roy grabbed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on his way in. There was also a table standing right in the middle of the entrance area, advertising the books for the first year at Hogwarts but with a warning that there was no Defence Against the Dark Arts book chosen yet. The table was piled high with books, as though not many people had bought them yet. Some titles stood out to Roy as they passed them by. There was the same book he had been reading through last night, one titled _A History of Magic_ and what seemed to be like introductory guides to various other disciplines.

The shop was practically empty, as if not many people had an interest in buying books. That wasn’t so different from the muggle bookshop they had visited earlier, or the ones Roy was used to back in Amestris.

Roy nodded to the man sitting behind the counter and followed Olivier into one of the many hallways divided by bookcases.

“How do you feel about being a mother?” Roy muttered as soon as he was certain they were away from prying ears.

Olivier stopped and whirled around.

“You’d better have a damn good reason for that question.”

Roy smiled in amusement at her reaction.

“The display at the front has a few books that fit what we’re looking for, but I imagine it’d be odd to buy them if you don’t have a child about to attend school as a first year.”

She frowned.

“What about the missing subject? If it’s basic knowledge I’d rather have a look at it.”

“I’ll talk to the clerk and see if he has anything to recommend. Why don’t you look for something about those wards meanwhile?”

Olivier nodded and turned around again to walk into the maze of books.

Roy returned to the front and approached the counter. The clerk behind it looked bored, but he made a half-hearted attempt at appearing interested when he noticed Roy’s approach.

“May I help you?” he asked Roy in a passable imitation of politeness.

Roy smiled in a much more convincing show of politeness.

“Of course. I’m here for the first year school books.”

The clerk blinked in surprise.

“Really? Not many parents have bothered, given the DADA book’s still not been announced.”

“That’s kind of why we came, actually. We figured this way we’ll only have to fight for one book when everybody else shows up,” Roy said, slipping some amusement into his voice.

“Good point. There’ll be _war_ if Hogwarts takes much longer to announce that book,” the clerk said, pulling out his wand to make a set of books fly to the counter. “Then again, I guess it’s not easy to find a DADA professor, given that position’s history and the mess with Dumbledore.”

Roy hummed.

“I guess,” he said, as though he knew what the man was talking about. He leant forward on the counter. “If you had to recommend a Defence book, which would it be? Ed wants to get started, even if it’s not the standard book.”

“Smart kid?” the clerk asked, his interest looking more genuine now. “Well, if I had to choose, I’d go for _The Dark Arts: A Guide to Self-Protection_. It’s been a standard textbook at the school often enough. Even that nutjob Moody chose it last year, and that’s a pretty good point to the book. The man’s paranoid after all.”

“We’ll take a copy then,” Roy said, filing the name away just in case. Someone known enough to be used as a reference for a field of knowledge was worth remembering, even if he was described as a nutjob.

He heard Olivier approaching, and she dumped two books on the counter next to him. Roy glanced down. He spotted the word ‘wards’ in one of the titles, but the other... _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_. Roy glanced at the history of magic book that was part of the first year set. It was a thick volume, but depending on how long of a period it covered it might be a good idea to buy a more specific book for recent events.

“Good call,” the clerk said, looking at the history book. “Never knew why Bathilda Bagshot hasn’t bothered to add the twentieth century to her book, it’s not as if she’s very busy these days.”

“We’re done with Ed’s books then?” Roy asked, turning to Olivier. He noticed the twitch to her eyes at the name before she collected herself almost immediately and nodded. She could mock him for the choice as much as she wanted later, but Roy had spent four years watching after the brat; that gave him some material to use if he had to make a comment about his supposed son.

She gestured at the shop at large.

“Go for it.”

Without waiting for another word, Roy walked towards the closest section of bookcases.

_Alchemy and races_ , he reminded himself as he heard Olivier ask the clerk to keep watch over their books. She muttered something about Roy getting lost in the shop if she didn’t keep an eye on him.

 

* * *

 

 

Denny Brosh was waiting for them at the station, looking as if he hadn’t caught a wink of sleep all night. He briefed them on the car ride about what little information they had, and Ed made him change his route halfway through the explanation. There was no point in wasting time going to Central Command. If Grumman wanted to talk to him, he could drop by. Hawkeye must have predicted Ed’s decision, because she was waiting outside of the cordoned off house.

She didn’t look like she had slept at all.

Hawkeye approached as the three of them stepped out of the car.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she said in a decent enough imitation of her usual professional voice.

“Not a problem. Someone’s got to get the Bastard out of trouble,” Ed said, aiming for casual. He counted it as a victory when Hawkeye’s lips twitched the slightest bit.

“Of course,” she said, then straightened. “Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong has insisted that you two spend your time in Central at the Armstrong Estate.” She looked to Winry now. “Maybe you’d like to go ahead, Winry? Ed will probably spend hours in here.”

Winry snorted.

“Yeah, I’ll get our things settled. Just make sure he stays fed and watered, please.”

“Oi!” Ed complained, but he didn’t mind much, because this time Hawkeye actually smiled.

“Don’t worry, I’m used to taking care of obsessive alchemists.”

Ed watched Winry get into the backseat, suppressing a yawn as she did. She had been so worried on the long train ride that she had exhausted herself.

“Do you know anything new?” Ed asked.

“No. The prisoner refuses to talk,” Hawkeye said, turning to lead him inside. “But, between you and me, I think he’s not of a very sound mind.”

Ed snorted.

“Of course not. You’ve got to be fucking suicidal to set off an array on Olivier Armstrong.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ll have to transmute more gold at this rate,” Olivier said once they were inside the hotel room. It was an expensive hotel, but the room fit their needs well. Aside from the large bedroom itself and a decently-sized bathroom, there was a small kitchen and a dining table where Roy could spread whatever amount of notes he needed for his research, plus a couch facing a square contraption similar to one there had been in the Dursleys’ sitting room.

“Not a problem,” Roy said, setting the book bags on the coffee table between the couch and the square object. “I’m going to start on that guy’s notes,” he announced, walking to the table and pulling out a chair.

Olivier nodded, going to the couch. She intended to finish the book she had been reading earlier, read the _Prophet_ rag from today and then browse through the other books before deciding what to read next.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, Olivier decided she’d had enough. Roy had been muttering to himself about numbers and nonsense, scribbling things on the new notebook before forcefully crossing them out.

It had taken Olivier an embarrassingly long amount of time to realise that Roy was in no state to start on a research project.

He rarely slept the night before the anniversary of the Promised Day, spending it on the train from East City to Central and reading whatever he managed to get his hands on to distract himself from the memories. He had been known to even willingly complete his paperwork if that meant he didn’t have to think. Then there had been all the excitement and confusion from yesterday, followed by another sleepless night, and the sheer absurdity that had been today’s visit to Diagon Alley.

Olivier snapped her book shut when Roy ripped off one of the notebook pages, balled it into a fist and threw it aside.

“Go to bed, Mustang,” she ordered.

“I’m fine. These notes just make no sense,” he replied predictably.

“Fine, really? Are you past fifty hours of being awake already?”

Roy looked up at her at those words.

“...Possibly.”

Olivier scoffed.

“You’re no use sleep-deprived. Go to sleep and work on that tomorrow.”

The pause that followed her words was long enough that it made Olivier think she might have to drag Roy to bed herself, but when he spoke it wasn’t to argue with her.

“Are you coming too?”

To most people that question, coming from Roy Mustang, would be interpreted as a sexual proposal, but Olivier knew him well enough to realise he wasn’t in the mood for sex right now. He was too stressed out, too exhausted and too disconcerted by everything at the moment. He just wanted the company, because Roy was a fucking cuddler and he always got sensitive around the anniversary.

Olivier put her book under her arm, almost completely read by now, grabbed the newspaper and a couple random books from the coffee table and stood up. She wasn’t tired yet, she had gotten a decent amount of sleep last night and it wasn’t even dinner time, but she had no issue against moving to bed and having Roy press himself to her side while he slept. Or, well, she had no issue with it as long as no one else learnt about it. She had a reputation to maintain.

“Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On a very nerdy and irrelevant note, I actually went to the length of spending a large amount of time reading up on wands and deciding which ones would be best. Sort of. I already had Roy’s wand from The Colours of the World, but I did the research all over again to decide on Olivier’s. These are the final choices:  
> Roy: 11”, cedar, unicorn hair, rather bendy  
> Olivier: 13”, fir, dragon heartstring, reasonably springy.  
> You can check the woods and cores’ properties at Pottermore or the Harry Potter wiki :) The lengths and flexibility are a little random, because Rowling hasn’t given much information about them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! :D I’m sorry about the slight delay; I intended to post this chapter on Wednesday, but I got sick, so I’m leaving this here now. This may be considered begging for comments, but I have a horrid 5 hour long class on tax law tomorrow morning (yes, on a Saturday, please kill me) and I’d really appreciate to have some lovely reviews to read during the break. So, pleeeease?

When Olivier woke up, she found the outer covers of that drivel considered a newspaper above her head, and she wasn’t resting on the pillow. Instead, Roy had somehow managed to manoeuvre her so that Olivier’s head was resting on his bare thigh without waking her up.

“Did you like the cover story?” Olivier asked, drawing Roy’s attention.

Roy lowered the newspaper with a frown.

“Oh, yes,” he drawled sarcastically. “You’d think they’d be more careful writing about a _child_ , even if they don’t believe his story.”

“I doubt the press knows how to be careful,” Olivier said, scoffing. However, bad taste and lack of integrity aside, that article about Harry Potter painted an interesting picture. It was deliberately callous and openly mocking. If Olivier had to make a guess, she’d say that more than presenting the story as an unlikely possibility, the paper wanted the general public to laugh at the mere thought of it being true. Given what Olivier had read about Potter in the recent history book, that was... interesting.

What the situation said about this place, she had no idea.

Roy ran his fingers through Olivier’s hair.

“I’m going to take a shower. Would you like to join me?” he asked with an innocent smile.

And _that_ was a proposal.

 

* * *

 

 

After a heavy breakfast to compensate for their missed dinner, Roy went upstairs to properly start on his research while Olivier left the hotel for a quick shopping trip.

Over breakfast, they had discussed the advantages of reading muggle press to assess the situation on the muggle side of this country as well. As it turned out, muggles had a much larger selection of newspapers available, and Olivier chose three that had reasonably serious headlines. She ventured into an alleyway to take some loose pieces of brick and put them in a purse Roy had transmuted from a pillowcase, then ventured into Diagon Alley to buy a copy of today’s _Daily Prophet_ and headed back to the hotel. On her way there, though, she passed a small corner shop and decided they could put the kitchen in the room to some use.

Loaded with coffee, a bottle of milk and a pack of sugar, Olivier finally returned to the hotel room.

She found Roy sitting at the table, glaring at something on his notebook.

“We may have to start a separate investigation when we return,” he said without raising his head.

“Why?” Olivier asked, setting her purchases on the small counter.

“The base design of this array looks remarkably like the one Father used to transport the human sacrifices on the Promised Day.”

“Fuck,” Olivier muttered, and Roy hummed in agreement. She shook her head. “We can’t do anything about that now. Coffee?”

“Please.”

 

* * *

 

 

Roy had been mistaken in his original assessment of the notebook. It didn’t contain random thoughts and reminders; it was a very messy compilation of the alchemist’s research, a research the alchemist hadn’t even bothered to encode.

“I can’t believe this guy pulled off that array,” he muttered, dissecting the first design on one of his pages. It hadn’t produced a reaction, according to the notes, but Roy wanted a clear step-by-step look at its evolution.

“According to the report, he failed the State Alchemist exam four times,” Olivier said from her seat on the couch.

“You mean the report you commandeered on the car?” Roy asked with a note of sarcasm. “Is there any other piece of information you remember?”

“Not much. The missing girls all lived on the street, so it was hard in most cases to know when they went missing exactly, or even to ascertain they had gone missing and not simply left. The military police didn’t take the case very seriously until they discovered there was an alchemist involved,” she added derisively.

“Which means there could be more missing people,” Roy concluded. “Wonderful. Remind me to ask Grumman to demote whoever was in charge of the case.”

 

* * *

 

 

Once he had the basic design of the array down, following its evolution was easy enough. Roy was reasonably certain that at least some of the changes had been made without any real research behind them, which said a lot about its creator.

More worrying, though, was everything else the notebook contained. The kidnapped victims were used as test subjects. The first girl had been kept captive for three weeks, made to test ineffective arrays for that period until one had worked. The part of her body that had been inside the array had disappeared, leaving behind the bloody parts that had been outside of it in her kneeling position. That fact, accompanied by the alchemist’s rants and complaints as he described the event had been enough to make Roy stand up and pace for an entire hour in an attempt to calm himself. He wasn’t in Amestris, he couldn’t just march into the nearest military training field and reduce every target there to ashes.

Olivier had cursed quite creatively when she read what had bothered Roy so much.

 

* * *

 

 

“This dude’s a crackpot,” Ed proclaimed after two days of going through the library’s contents. They were a mix of pretty standard alchemy books and copies of very old texts that preceded Father’s arrival to Amestris, and which had been dismissed centuries ago as nonsense in favour of the more scientific alchemy based on Xerxesian knowledge.

“Any particular reason?” Hawkeye asked. She had been fruitlessly looking for any notes while Ed read.

“He’s obsessed with some old bullshit about other worlds,” Ed said with a frown. It _was_ bullshit, to think that there were other worlds. And yet, the Gate existed, something most people who hadn’t seen it would discard as nonsense.

He glared at the array Armstrong had gotten out of the rug and drawn for him, then back at the page of the ancient text that held a symbol that hadn’t been used in centuries. Until this array.

And Mustang and Armstrong were gone.

“No notes yet?” Ed asked, hoping for some explanation to the one part of the array he still hadn’t figured out: a series of symbols surrounding the one he had identified and a set of numbers below said symbol.

“Nothing. It’s as if he doesn’t bother to make notes of his research,” Hawkeye said dubiously. Ed knew she was familiar enough with alchemists to know that everybody kept some variety of notes. Ed had, Al did, Mustang did...

Ed stood up.

“I want to talk to the asshole.”

 

* * *

 

 

Robert Sinclair tried to settle more comfortably on the chair in the interrogation room. It was a difficult task, given how hard and awkwardly-bent the chair was. A deliberate choice on the military’s part, Robert was sure, but something this trivial wouldn’t make him talk. He had been brought to the room and chained the same way he had been every time before this one, and now it was only a matter of waiting before whoever was to interrogate him arrived. Robert absentmindedly wondered whether it would be Alex Armstrong or that woman, Riza Hawkeye. He preferred Armstrong; having one of the more renowned State Alchemists attempting to get the answers out of him meant that the military was truly failing to decipher his brilliant research. It was flattering.

The door slammed open with a loud bang, and in walked... neither Armstrong nor Hawkeye. The newcomer was a young man, barely more than a boy, short and blond with golden eyes and a very angry frown on his face. Behind him entered Hawkeye, but she simply closed the door and settled by the wall.

The young man stormed over to the table and slammed his hands down on it with a resounding bang.

“Okay, asshole,” he growled through gritted teeth, “where the fuck’d you hid your damn notes?”

Robert was disappointed. Such rudeness... did the military truly believe a _child_ would make him talk?

“What makes you think there are any?” Robert asked, and he didn’t bother to cover his patronising tone. “Some of us have no need of such simple things.”

The boy snorted.

“The fuck you don’t. I’ve seen the amount of paragraphs you’ve underlined in those books of yours. I bet you couldn’t find your ass without a map, much less remember an array.”

Robert bristled. Who did this boy think he was?

He opened his mouth to tell the boy exactly what he thought of his _assessment_ , but was interrupted.

“Save the crap. Everybody here knows you aren’t smart enough to not need to keep notes. Hell, even _I_ had to keep notes. So where are they?”

Robert blinked, surprised by the implications that this boy was an alchemist. Then his mind processed the information he had already noticed: short, blond, golden eyes, an alchemist.

Robert glanced at Hawkeye.

_Close to Mustang_.

There was one person who fit this description.

Robert found himself laughing before he could think better of it, delighted by the realisation that had crossed his mind. The boy — _Edward Elric_ — frowned deeper, and leaned closer to him over the table. The rumours really hadn’t exaggerated about his temper; his frown was truly impressive.

“What the fuck is so funny, you asshole?” Elric demanded.

“This is _wonderful_!” Robert exclaimed, his pleasure taking over his voice. “The military were so desperate that they had to bring in the _Fullmetal Alchemist_? I’m flattered!”

Elric slammed his fist on the table, the sound harsh enough to startle Robert out of his laughter. The shackles sank into his wrist when he jumped, and he couldn’t help but grimace at the painful sensation. How could anybody stand such humiliating and uncomfortable things?

“Stop laughing and tell me where you hid your notes or I’ll tear your entire fucking house outside out looking for them,” Elric demanded.

“You wouldn’t!” Robert exclaimed, his delight completely gone. Surely an alchemist wouldn’t commit such an atrocity as to destroy a _library_ , much less one as impressive as Robert’s library was.

Robert looked closely at Elric, at the thin line of his lips and the deep frown between his eyes. At the fist, still pressed against the metal of the table. He remembered Edward Elric’s reputation well, and with a sinking feeling realised that he _would_ destroy Robert’s library if he found it necessary.

Elric’s mouth pulled up into a mockery of a grin, all teeth and no amusement when he saw Robert’s assessing gaze.

“Wanna risk it?”

For the first time since he had been arrested, Robert found himself giving in.

“There is no need, Mr. Elric. I’ll tell you where my research it, but it won’t help you.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Elric snapped.

Robert smiled. He couldn’t help it. He knew something that _Edward Elric_ didn’t know, and what was best, that something reminded him of why this indignity was worth enduring.

“Roy Mustang has it.”

Elric blinked.

“What?”

Robert’s smile turned into a wide grin.

“As a fellow alchemist, I’m sure you understand,” he started, leaning forward as much as the chains allowed him. “When I saw _the Flame Alchemist_ walk into my library and take my notes, only to then s _tep over my array_ , I couldn’t resist! All my subjects have failed, but surely if anyone could succeed in following my carefully created instructions that is one of the best alchemists in the world!” Robert would have spread his hands then, the moment certainly called for it, but the shackles bit into his wrists again when he moved them too much.

Elric blinked and stayed silent for some long seconds. He was no doubt processing Robert’s reasoning, reaching the conclusion that Robert hadn’t had another choice. This was for the good of the world!

“Are you telling me,” Elric started, “that you activated that array on purpose?”

Robert nodded.

“Of course I did. I—“

“Edward!” Hawkeye yelled suddenly, and a moment later Robert found himself with a gloved fist mere inches from his face, Riza Hawkeye holding an enraged Edward Elric back.

 

* * *

 

 

Riza had to drag Edward out of the interrogation room.

She understood, she had almost reached for one of her guns herself, but killing or beating up their prisoner wouldn’t change anything. Not even having Edward Elric in his face at his most threatening —and being unaware of the fact that Edward could no longer perform alchemy— had made the prisoner so much as squirm. Punching him wouldn’t have accomplished anything.

“Oh, come on, Hawkeye!” Edward practically growled. “Gimme five minutes and I’ll know what’s in those notes!”

“As much as I’d like to know, we have already tried everything short of torture to make him talk,” Riza said, and she saw the expected discomfort cross Edward’s face at the implication in her words.

Edward shook her off and turned around, a deep scowl on his face.

“I’m going back to the house. That asshole isn’t smart enough to create entirely new symbols; they’ve got to be in some book.”

“Hopefully Brigadier General Mustang will figure out the array with the notes.”

It was proof of Edward’s distress that he simply nodded instead of taking the chance to make a jab at the General’s skills.

 

* * *

 

 

“I need an atlas,” Roy said suddenly. He closed the book on this place’s alchemy and stood up from his seat.

“Have you figured it out?” Olivier asked, looking up at him.

“Maybe. Is there any normal bookshop around?”

“Why? Don’t you feel like going into a magic shop?” Olivier asked with a smirk. Roy had spent so much of his time immersed in the research that he had barely stepped out of the room.

“I prefer a map that won’t change suddenly while I’m working with it.”

Olivier stood up.

“Okay, let’s go see what we can find.”

 

* * *

 

 

“According to that book,” Roy started, pointing to the pitifully basic alchemy book, “the symbol above the numbers means the world —which I take to be _this_ world since it’s not the symbol I’m familiar with— and the research,” now he pointed to the notebook, “indicates the symbols around it are supposed to mark a destination. Could you tell me the coordinates of the place where we appeared?”

Olivier did, looking at the map they had brought with them from the Dursleys’ house. The numbers matched those of the array on the last written page of the notebook.

“Okay,” Olivier said after Roy nodded. “What do you want the atlas for?”

“I want to check if the numbers on the previous arrays are coordinates as well. They vary from the first ones, and the arrays only started working once a certain amount of numbers was used.” Which led Roy to believe the creator of this array had been testing numbers randomly. It was a worrying thought, because it meant the missing girls could have ended up literally anywhere in this world.

 

* * *

 

 

Two hours later, Olivier couldn’t believe the words she was about to say.

“Roy,” she started, deliberately using his first name to draw his attention. It worked, as it always did. Roy paused his pacing and turned a quite impressive glare on her. “I know what you’re thinking, but you can’t just walk in there and burn the guy to a crisp.”

Olivier was certain Roy’s expression now must match the one from the battle against Envy that she had heard about, but instead of clinging stubbornly to his anger he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his dishevelled hair.

“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “We need him alive to know where he found his victims at least. Their families deserve answers.” Roy sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than Olivier, which he probably was.

“Go take a shower, Mustang,” Olivier said. “You’ve been stuck to that table for days.” And growing progressively more stressed out as the time passed and he pieced everything together. Not that Olivier blamed him for it.

She was expecting him to argue that he still had work left, but he surprised her by nodding and turning around to march stiffly into the bathroom.

Olivier glanced at the two notebooks on the table. The one Roy had taken from the alchemist’s library and the one he had been working on.

There were nine victims, not five like the original report had stated. They had no names or descriptions for these other four victims because the alchemist referred to them as numbered subjects and nothing else. The first two had died activating the array before the alchemist had figured out how to fix it so that it would take the entire body instead of only the parts that were on top of the array itself. After that... They could almost certainly confirm four other victims had died as well. Three of them had been sent into the sea, and the fourth to a frozen continent known as Antarctica. The other three victims were an unknown factor right now. They had originally appeared at some point on land, but what might have happened to them afterwards was a mystery. Not only did they lack any information on the areas where these people had arrived, but according to Roy it would have been a disaster if they had used the “return array” the alchemist had given them.

That array, as Roy had pointed out earlier on his fifth cup of coffee of the day, had a very basic mistake: the symbol for the world was _this world’s_ symbol instead of their own, which meant if anyone had dared to use that array they would have been sent to the coordinates in this world. Olivier knew those coordinates, back home, were in Central —presumably the alchemist’s house— but here they were in an entirely different place. Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.

Which meant there were between six and nine dead people.

Despite her earlier words to Roy, Olivier knew she would have to leave her own weapons outside of the interrogation room herself, lest she be tempted to shoot or stab the alchemist.

 

* * *

 

 

Roy had forced himself to go to sleep after his shower last night. The only thing left to do now was to fix the return array, and that was something he didn’t want to do on little sleep and too much caffeine.

He was somewhat better rested now, had only drank one cup of coffee at the breakfast buffet, eaten something at Olivier’s prompting and convincing glare, and was now back at his improvised work station, the defective return array and a blank page of notebook before him.

“Where should we go?” he asked, tapping his pen on the table. He refused to use the house’s coordinates —who knew if they were even the right ones— and appearing at Central Command might not be the best of ideas. Unfortunately, the other coordinates Roy knew by heart were in the East, and he’d rather return as close to where they had vanished as possible.

“The Armstrong Estate,” Olivier said without hesitation and rattled off a set of coordinates. Roy wrote them down, then started to sketch the array to memorise it better.

“We should pack,” he said once he was certain he knew every line of the array by heart. “I’m sure those books will be of great use.”

“It’s already done,” Olivier said, pointing to the two backpacks Roy had transmuted back at the Dursleys’ house as well as two large shopping bags.

Roy nodded and walked over to pick his backpack. He took it to the table and put the notebooks inside. He had finished with the books yesterday.

“You’ll have to carry both bags,” he said. “I don’t want to leave such an array lying around after we leave.”

“You’ll clap your hands?” Olivier asked, securing her own backpack before picking the bags up.

“Of course. Just don’t kill me,” Roy said, trying to put on a teasing smile that he knew came across as somewhat exhausted.

Olivier rolled her eyes.

“Get over here.”

Roy did, wrapping his arms around Olivier’s waist to secure her inside the circle. He then closed his eyes for better concentration, envisioned the array, and clapped his hands together to activate it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :D I’m sorry about the delay on this update, but my computer broke and I still haven’t replaced it. I’ve been looking, but I’m shit at computers, making choices and having a decent budget, so it’ll most likely take a while. Right now I’m borrowing a friend’s computer, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it again.
> 
> On the bad side, this means I’m definitely not posting the whole story by the end of the event’s deadline (November 19th). On the bright side, I’ll finally have a decent computer. Mine was nine years old and had… issues. I should’ve started saving to replace it years ago, I knew this was a matter of time. But, as stated above, good choices aren’t my strong suit.
> 
> For updates on the computer ordeal (and handwriting of updates, because my brain is still working) you can keep an eye on my [tumblr](https://maisstories.tumblr.com/) (I never thought I’d say so, but I’m actually glad the app exists. Don’t you ever say never, I guess).
> 
> Anyway, ramblings aside, here is the fifth chapter :D I hope you enjoy it! And thanks a lot to everybody you commented, I love you guys :D

Hawkeye had dragged Ed out of the house late last night, insisting that naps in the library for days on end didn’t count as proper rest, which was how he now found himself eating breakfast with the Armstrongs in an outdoor patio of their estate, his arm sore from Winry’s wrench. Winry was sitting next to him and picking at a meal the Armstrongs’ cooks had carefully put together following the indications she had received from her doctor.

The table was mostly in a silence broken only by the sound of cutlery. Phillip Armstrong had asked Ed how the research was going, but after Ed had explained there were still three symbols he hadn’t identified in the array nobody else seemed to know what to say. It was obvious they were all worried, understandably so, but they were keeping themselves together. Ed had a feeling none of the sisters present were quite as cold as Olivier Armstrong, as he could see obvious traces of worry on their faces. As for Alex Armstrong, he had joined Ed at the library as often as his own investigation allowed him, and Ed knew well the signs of someone who was channelling their worry through research.

A gasp drew Ed’s attention away from his food and he raised his head. Catherine, the youngest Armstrong, was pointing at something deeper down the large grounds, and Ed turned in that direction. It was hard to distinguish in the bright light of the morning, but he was pretty sure he saw the tail end of a large transmutation somewhere behind a bunch of trees.

Everybody scrambled up from their chairs and hurried over. Ed wasn’t sure what to expect, but someone would have to be completely out of it to pull anything at the Armstrongs’ place, which left only one logical option. Still, he wasn’t sure how sceptical he should be about it.

Not at all, as it turned out.

Mustang and Olivier Armstrong walked out of the trees as the group approached, both of them dressed in civilian clothes, carrying a backpack each, and Armstrong had two large bags with her as well. Two large bags full of books.

Unsurprisingly, it was Alex who broke the silence. Somehow forgetting his sister’s temper, he tried to hug her and found himself flat on his back on the ground.

That stopped the rest of the family, who had also taken steps forward.

“Olivier!” Philip Armstrong exclaimed in a scolding voice (Ed held back an amused snort at the idea of anyone scolding Olivier Armstrong, even her parents).

She rolled her eyes.

“He should know better.”

“That’s not how you treat your brother after we’ve been so worried!”

Cue an eye roll from her there.

“That’s not up to you.”

Ed ignored the bickering that followed and focused on Mustang who, despite his obvious amusement, looked exhausted. About as exhausted as Ed had seen himself in the mirror earlier this morning.

“Took you long enough,” Ed said, deliberately rolling his eyes.

“Less than you, it seems,” Mustang threw back with a tired version of his trademark smirk.

“You had advantage. Bet it would’ve taken me a day, _at most_ , to get back with that asshole’s notes,” Ed said. Winry hit his arm —with her fist, thankfully— and shook her head.

“Don’t start with the bickering,” Armstrong —Olivier, and it was odd to have to think about these guys by their first names— snapped at them. “We have to go talk to Grumman, and I’m not doing it in civvies.”

“You’re already leaving, sister?” Alex asked, somehow managing to sound surprised despite who he was talking to. He was back on his feet.

“And so are you. Go get changed,” she ordered him before she started walking again. “Move it, Mustang, we don’t have all day.”

Mustang shook his head, _fondly_ , but followed her after addressing Ed one last time.

“You should come too, Fullmetal; I think you’ll find this interesting.”

_Huh._

 

* * *

 

 

“Weren’t you a little too cold down there?” Roy asked once they were safely inside Olivier’s room. “Your family has good reason to be worried.”

Olivier snorted.

“If I let them start, we wouldn’t leave until tomorrow. I’d rather get this out of the way as quickly as possible.”

Well, Roy couldn’t disagree with that. The sooner they reported to Grumman, the sooner he could pass out on Olivier’s bed for a day or two.

He spotted his suitcase propped against one wall —he no doubt had Captain Hawkeye to thank for bringing it back from Grumman’s office— and walked over to it. It was empty.

Roy yawned as he walked to the large dressing room. The place was mostly empty as well, given that Olivier didn’t spend much time at Central, and at some point an area of it had become Roy’s. He found his clothes, including a few outfits that he had left in the house over the years, hanging there, and reached for one of his uniforms.

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier held back an eye roll at the owlish looks she and Roy were receiving. Even _Hawkeye_ looked taken off guard and incredulous.

“I get the transport thing,” Elric started after a too long pause, “I’d figured the array was about that. But... _magic_? If it was Mustang alone I’d think this was some stupid joke.”

“Do I look like I’m joking to you, pipsqueak?” Olivier asked.

Elric’s left eye twitched at the comment. Olivier wasn’t up for a rant or, worse yet, for a bickering match between Roy and Elric, so she pulled out her wand and sent half the trinkets on Grumman’s desk flying at Elric’s head. Elric dodged them, of course, but it got the point across. Elric was left staring down at the trinkets now on the floor, and so was Alex.

_Alchemists._

“...Fascinating,” Grumman muttered, his eyes glinting sharply with the intellect he usually hid behind that façade of his. “I believe this needs some consideration. Might I have a look at those books you brought?”

Olivier gestured to the large suitcase in which they had brought them. She had read about a third of the books herself and browsed a few more, and she knew Grumman would see just as much potential as she did in their contents.

“Suit yourself. If that’s all, I’d like to contact Briggs. And I guess Mustang will have to check on East. If Hawkeye is here the place might not exist anymore.”

Hawkeye dipped her head in thanks for the implied compliment and Grumman laughed.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant General. Eastern Command is in very capable hands,” Grumman said with amusement, his mask smoothly sliding back into place. “Lieutenant Colonel Miles agreed to head up from Ishval to overlook things while we solved this issue.”

“You saddled Miles with Mustang’s work?” Olivier asked, putting on an offended look even though she found it somewhat amusing. “You’d better give him a promotion for that.”

“I feel attacked, Lieutenant General,” Roy said, not bothering to hide his own amusement.

“I don’t even want to know how much paperwork Miles ran into in your office.”

 

* * *

 

 

The communications officers scattered from the room the moment Roy and Olivier, still arguing over Roy’s work ethics, entered the room. Their surprised looks told Roy that the news of his and Olivier’s disappearance hadn’t stayed under wraps, at least not here at Central Command, but the soldiers were smart enough to leave without a word.

Roy and Olivier settled on different work stations to call their respective bases.

Roy _did_ need to know how things were going at Eastern Command, and he owed Miles for leaving Ishval, even if things there had been going far more smoothly as of late.

Besides, Roy was reasonably certain that Scar could take care of most issues for a few weeks, hopefully without losing his temper with any soldiers.

 

* * *

 

 

Miles reached the phone on Brigadier General Mustang’s desk on the fourth ring.

“Yes?” he said, expecting one of the people in communications to tell him where the call was coming from.

“Lieutenant Colonel Miles? It’s good to hear from you,” Brigadier General Mustang’s voice came through instead.

Miles blinked, taken aback for just a moment before realising that, _of course_ , no one would keep the general on hold.

His next thought was that this was _Brigadier General Mustang_ on the other end of the line.

“Likewise, Sir,” he replied, settling on Mustang’s chair. This conversation was likely to take a while. “Should I assume the issue that kept you away is taken care of?” Miles phrased his words carefully, because nobody in Eastern Command was supposed to know that generals Armstrong and Mustang had gone missing on the anniversary of the Promised Day. The only reason Miles knew why his presence at Eastern Command had been requested so suddenly was through a young lady who was a friend of the Fuhrer’s and who had been waiting for him at East City’s train station.

“Mostly. I believe the Fuhrer wants to go over some details before he gives us new orders,” Brigadier General Mustang replied.

Us. Good, that meant Lieutenant General Armstrong was fine as well. Not that Miles had doubted her, but still.

And speaking of her, Miles could hear her voice in the background. He couldn’t discern what she was saying, but it was clear she was addressing Mustang. A moment later Mustang let out an exaggerated sigh.

“Also, Lieutenant General Armstrong would like to ensure I’m not overworking you as soon as she’s done barking at some poor Briggs officer— _Ow. That’s my ear_. So, in the meantime, why don’t you update me on the situation in the East?“

 

* * *

 

 

Ed had camped out in Grumman’s office.

He hadn’t even bothered to ask for permission, he had simply grabbed a random book and settled on the couch. The snacks had popped up at some point, courtesy of Hawkeye and her practise dealing with people who focused too much on research —she hadn’t been kidding when she’d told Winry she knew what she was doing: she’d even made sure none of the drinks had milk.

The books Mustang and Armstrong had brought with them were... well, the scientific ones were _fascinating_ (even if Ed never wanted to see some of the technology described in them recreated) but the magic ones were pure nonsense. Nonsense that somehow _worked_.

Ed glanced at the trinkets now back on Grumman’s desk to remind himself of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier steeled herself as they walked up to the house. She had postponed the reunion moment with her family for as long as she could. Alex had no doubt told them that she would be back any time now, and they would be waiting. Along with overblown shows of their concern, tears, too loud words and attempts at hugging her.

It was at times like these that she regretted allowing them back into the house now that she was the head of the family.

“Go straight to bed once we get in,” she told Roy.

Roy glanced sideways at her.

“Are you sure?” he asked. His jaw tensed, indicating he was suppressing a yawn. That had been happening with increasing frequency since they had left Grumman’s office.

“I can deal with them on my own. You, however, might pass out and make them fuss even _more_.” Because the Armstrong family had all but adopted Roy. As Olivier’s father liked to remind everybody far too often, they had long since given up on Olivier ever settling down with anyone by the time they had learnt (in quite an unfortunate way that Olivier didn’t like to remember) about her relationship with Roy. They had been ridiculously overjoyed.

Roy didn’t smile, but he gave Olivier a grateful look.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’d better.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neither Roy nor Olivier were surprised when, the following day, Grumman asked them to remain in Central while the material they had brought was analysed. In fact, they were expected to assist with said analysis, alongside Fuhrer Grumman himself, Edward (who insisted that he wasn’t helping the army, he was just curious) and Captain Hawkeye. It was an extremely odd team, but Grumman wanted to keep the information Roy and Olivier had brought a secret even from the entirety of the brass until he had a better idea about how to proceed.

Before they could start, however, there was something that both Roy and Olivier wanted to do, and that was why they were following Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong down to one of the most isolated cells in Central Command. There was no need for an interrogation room.

“I must ask you leave your weapons outside before you go in,” Alex said once they had reached the closed door.

“What, you think I can’t kill him without a weapon?” Olivier asked, but she removed the gun at her hip and dropped it on Alex’s hand.

“I’d rather you didn’t, Sis.”

Roy expected Olivier to at least step on Alex’s foot for overlooking her rank, but she simply glared at him and handed over her sword. Roy passed Alex his own gun and ignition gloves.

“I promise to keep all transmutations non-lethal,” he conceded.

Alex nodded, no doubt aware that was the best he would get out of them after yesterday’s report, and settled to stand guard at the door while they walked in.

Roy hadn’t seen the report prior to this whole fiasco, and as such he didn’t know what Robert Sinclair looked like. He knew better than to expect an outwardly disturbing appearance, monsters rarely looked the way they were inside, and indeed he wasn’t disappointed. Sinclair was a small man, barely taller than Edward, and even in his prisoner garb it was hard to find anything threatening about him. However he had kidnapped his victims, it was no surprise that he had managed it; even with rumours about the disappearances going around, most people would think they could overpower him if things turned sour. That was, Roy guessed, where alchemy gave him an advantage.

Sinclair’s face brightened as soon as they walked in, and he was on his feet even before the door closed again. A wide grin took up most of his face.

“Roy Mustang!” he exclaimed, delighted, and it was in his voice that Roy saw the first hints of instability. “They didn’t tell me you were back! I knew you could—!”

Olivier slammed him face first against a wall before he could finish that sentence.

“Shut up,” she ordered him, her voice colder than Roy was used to hear. This wasn’t Olivier ordering people around or Lieutenant General Armstrong trying to get out of meaningless chatter by scaring off other members of the brass; this was Lieutenant General Armstrong in interrogation mode.

_Good._

There was no furniture in the cell other than a cot and a latrine, so Roy settled himself against the door and crossed his arms.

“I don’t know why you’re so happy to see me, given that I had to modify that array of yours in the first place.”

The smile vanished completely from Sinclair’s face, replaced by an expression of confusion.

“So many attempts and you hadn’t noticed you messed up your return array?” Olivier asked, still holding him. “No wonder you never passed the State Alchemist exam.”

Roy spoke again before Sinclair could.

“That doesn’t matter now. We’re not here to talk alchemy. We want to know everything you remember about your victims,” he demanded, tapping the notebook he had brought against his hip.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex spent a tense hour standing next to the cell’s door, waiting for a scream to come at any moment. It didn’t, silence filling the hallway throughout the hour. The door was too thick to let through voices unless they were raised, and it seemed Sinclair had decided to cooperate. Then again, both Olivier and Brigadier General Mustang could be terrifying with only their words, and Sinclair was facing the death penalty. Alex had a team digging up Sinclair’s backyard in search of the remaining body parts of the first two girls right now.

The door rattled with the two raps that signalled the end of the interrogation, and Alex hurried to unlock and open it. Olivier walked out followed by Brigadier General Mustang, both of them stony-faced, and Alex got a quick look inside the cell before closing it again; Sinclair was sitting on the cot, his skin ashen and body nearly boneless. Alex couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for him.

He locked the door again.

Brigadier General Mustang offered him the notebook.

“Unsurprisingly, Sinclair didn’t remember any names, but he gave us locations and general descriptions of his victims. Hopefully that should help in identifying them.”

Alex nodded and pocketed the notebook.

“I’ll gather a team and start on it immediately.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, finally, my new computer has arrived and it’s all set up. I’ve learned a very important lesson from this whole ordeal: back up your content. I used to have this external hard drive connected to the computer and copied everything in there, but I never returned it after my summer holidays, so now I’ve lost part of the story. I’m kind of depressed about it, which really doesn’t help, and I’m trying to rewrite what I lost now. We’ll see how that goes.
> 
> I’m aware I have unanswered comments, here and generally everywhere, but right now, between studying and other real life things that aren’t looking all that bright, I have little time to dedicate to fanfiction in general, and I prefer to use the time I do have on writing. Still, know that I love every single comment I get, and I like to reread it whenever I’m down or need a boost, so please, keep them coming. You’re all great and I thank you very much for the support :)

Ten days after their return, Olivier and Roy found themselves standing before Grumman’s desk. Olivier had been biting back comments for the last half hour; this was an official meeting with the leader of their country, so she couldn’t just snap whatever crossed her mind.

She didn’t glance at Roy, but she was sorely tempted to do so. While they hadn’t talked about it, they both had known that Grumman might consider the option of opening political channels with the other world. What Olivier wasn’t so pleased about was the order that _they_ would be the ones in charge of negotiations if the attempt was successful.

“If I may, sir?” Roy spoke once Grumman was done detailing the security measures to ensure the project remained a secret until the right time came. Grumman nodded. “I believe it might be beneficial to let Emperor Ling Yao know about the situation.”

“Oh?” Grumman prompted, raising his eyebrows. Olivier turned to look at Roy.

“It would help improve our image and future chances at treaty negotiations if once this project reaches the public our neighbouring countries see that we shared such information with our only ally, and this way we could bring some more valuable assistance to the research team.”

“Alphonse Elric and Mei Chan?” Olivier asked, catching onto Roy’s train of thought. Ling Yao had been involved in the Promised Day, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t already know Amestris’ darkest secrets. The advantages of letting him know about this project far outweighed the disadvantages.

 

* * *

 

 

“You want _me_ to lead a military research project?” Ed asked, letting his incredulity take over his voice. He had dropped down on one of the couches in Mustang’s temporary office, and couldn’t say he was surprised by Grumman’s decision until this particular tidbit had left Mustang’s mouth. “And Grumman _agreed_?”

“Of course he did, he knows how skilled you are,” Mustang replied, reclining back on his plush chair in a very un-general-like manner. “And you can’t claim you aren’t interested; I’ve seen you read the books.”

Ed shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue that point, he _was_ interested, and leading the team meant he would have a say in what was and what wasn’t developed.

“I’ll talk to Winry, she’ll brain me if I make that decision on my own. What will you do about East? This will take long, you can’t keep Miles away from Ishval until you get back.”

“I know,” Mustang said with a sigh. “I was thinking of borrowing Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. I need someone who will obey Captain Hawkeye.”

Ed cackled. It was a pity that a captain couldn’t be officially in charge of such a large base, because everybody knew Hawkeye was the one who ran Eastern Command.

“I want Al,” Ed said, satisfied to know there wouldn’t be some pompous asshole messing up all the progress in Ishval.

“Of course. I need someone who can make sure you won’t bully the other scientists too much.” Ed stuck his tongue out at Mustang, who just smirked. “And speaking of other scientists, the Fuhrer would like you to ask your teacher if she’d be interested in joining the team.”

Ed’s blood froze.

 

* * *

 

 

Havoc was waiting for them when Roy and Riza stepped out of the train at the station in East City. Olivier had left yesterday to arrange everything at Briggs (because Briggs was a smaller base, and given the fiasco preceding the Promised Day, she had gotten Grumman to agree to let her men handle things in her absence) and Edward and Winry left Central a week ago to pack properly for a longer stay at the city.

“Is everybody waiting?” Roy asked once they were in the car.

“Yeah. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s going on now, will you Chief?”

“I’d rather deal with the incredulity just once.”

Havoc glanced at the rear view mirror, where Roy could see Riza shaking her head. Havoc’s eyebrows went up. Anyone who knew Riza Hawkeye also knew that if she thought something was complicated, then it would boggle most people.

To avoid having to repeat himself more than necessary, Roy had asked Havoc to have his team and Miles waiting in his office. The only member of his team who wasn’t currently stationed at Eastern Command was Falman, who was still at Briggs, and Olivier had agreed to send him down to Central to join Edward’s research team, as his memory would prove extremely useful. As for the rest, Roy intended to send First Lieutenants Ross, Breda and Catalina to Xing with the pertinent messages for Emperor Ling Yao, Alphonse and Mei Chan after the briefing, and let Miles return to Ishval.

 

* * *

 

 

Stepping into the Central City station was like walking into an entirely different world. Central was nothing like the cities and towns that could be found in Xing, and it certainly didn’t resemble Resembool at all, the only place in Amestris Al had visited since he left for Xing the first time.

Had anyone else sent those letters, Al would have believed they were joking, but he knew Brigadier General Mustang wouldn’t pull a joke large enough to bring Al back all the way to Amestris, and much less do so using Lieutenant General Armstrong’s name. If she didn’t kill him for it, then Al would. Ed’s letter had also helped to convince Al, Mei, Ling and Lan Fan that it was no joke. The letter, if it could be called so, only had six words, but they were something Ed would _never_ have written unless it was the truth.

_Ling, bullshit’s true, Mustang isn’t lying._

Al had shaken his head when he had first read it, because only Ed would send such a letter to the ruler of a country.

Al secured his bags in one hand and offered the other to Mei to help her down from the train. She didn’t need the help, but Al wanted to savour his last moments with her without Ed teasing them for absolutely _everything_ (not that Ling was much better, but at least he was busy most of the time).

Mei blushed, but accepted his hand without the fuss that would have accompanied the gesture three years ago.

“Alphonse Elric!” a very familiar voice exclaimed and Al held back a grimace.

_Of all the people..._

Both Al and Mei turned to face a quickly-approaching Alex Armstrong.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” Al greeted, smiling despite what he knew was coming. “It’s nice to see you.”

Al was sure this had been Ed’s doing.

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Ed grumbled after Al had punched and then hugged him. “That was _nothing_. I had to ask Teacher to help with a military project.”

Al winced in sympathy.

“What did she say?” he asked. Knowing what the project was about, Al suspected Teacher might have been interested. After beating the crap out of Ed for daring to request such a thing.

Ed smirked.

Al barely had a moment to feel the chills run down his back before he found himself flat on his face.

As it turned out, Teacher had agreed to help.

 

* * *

 

 

“Anything else we should add?” Olivier asked sarcastically, looking at the very long list of topics they were supposed to find books about on this second, scheduled trip.

Everybody shook their heads. They had spent the entire morning composing the list of what they would start on, which comprised everything from the culture of the wizarding world to airplanes, something Edward Elric had proclaimed to be the most interesting project to start on. While Olivier herself would like to see some of the weaponry developed, she had to agree that airplanes _were_ extremely tempting and useful, both in civilian and military terms, and so did Roy and Grumman, so they had been approved as one of the larger first projects.

Aside from essentially building a library for the repurposed laboratory three, Roy and Olivier had the mission of locating the exact coordinates of the Ministry of Magic.

Nodding, Olivier turned to Roy.

“Get on with it, Mustang,” she said.

With a nod and a hidden glint of excitement in his eyes — _alchemists, seriously_ — Roy wrapped his arms around Olivier and clapped his hands before Olivier could turn to see who had snickered at the sight. She had a very likely suspect.

A moment later they were standing in the middle of the same alleyway where they had first appeared, dressed in civilian clothes, with weapons properly hidden under said clothes and the implicit permission to transmute as much gold as was necessary.

They had books to find.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ed said in a despairing voice. “Mustang, tell me you’re fucking kidding me.”

Under different circumstances Al would have found it hilarious that Ed was basically begging to Brigadier General Mustang of all people. As things were now, Al felt more like joining Ed. Brigadier General Mustang didn’t look very amused himself.

“I’m afraid I’m not,” he said with a grimace. “We’ll have to figure it out. I brought every book we found on the subject.”

“I can’t believe this,” Teacher said, browsing through one of said books. “Are these people serious?”

“Looks that way,” Lieutenant General Armstrong said. She was the only one who looked amused. Then again, she didn’t have to decipher this nightmare. “I’ll be off to report to Grumman, you lot get started on that.”

Al sighed. He had been looking forward to the generals’ return after a week of interviewing government-approved scientists while he tried to prevent Ed from offending them mortally and/or punching them. But now Al thought he preferred the interviews.

“This bullshit reminds me of Gluttony’s stomach,” Ed said with a grimace.

“You’re not helping, Brother,” Al said.

These _wizards_ manipulated space against all logic. Brigadier General Mustang had proved so by bringing over a hundred books in a bag that by all accounts shouldn’t have fit more than three. They needed to figure this out because, obviously, the Ministry of Magic was in one of these magically-created spaces.

“Shouldn’t there be more people in here by now?” the general asked, looking around at the tidy but mostly empty laboratory. The only ones present right now were the general, Ed, Al, Mei, Teacher, Falman and Sheska.

“They’d only get in the way,” Ed said waving his hand dismissively. “We’ll bring the minions in when there’s something for them to do.”

Al didn’t bother to tell Ed to stop calling them that. It had proven to be useless.

 

* * *

 

 

Olivier leant back in her chair and held back a sigh. This was the third day of meetings she attended since her return, though she knew they had been going on since before she and Roy had left to find the books. For all that they had progressed this could be the first meeting. The brass were still arguing over the general structure of the letter they intended to send, posturing and trying to one-up each other in every single detail. With Roy at the lab trying to solve the issue with the magically-generated space Olivier didn’t even have someone to exchange exasperated looks with when a general decided to turn what could have been a simple sentence into a full blown speech.

Olivier fingered the handle of her sword and reminisced fondly about the satisfaction she had felt when she could finally kill the generals in Bradley’s command. Her gesture must not have gone unnoticed, because Grumman cut Hakuro off and reminded everyone that they really needed to advance with this task.

Sometimes it was useful that the old man noticed more than he let on.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m keeping this thing,” Ed announced, his arm buried shoulder-deep into a tiny bag that he could fit in a pocket. After various failed attempts and successful ones at a smaller scale, Mustang had finally mastered the _spell_ —Ed repressed a shudder— that created these enlarged spaces.

“It’s a pity you can’t buy those wands in bulk,” Teacher said. She was reading one of the books about said wands. “It’d save us some time. This is nonsense.” She waved the book around to emphasise her point.

“We can put the annoying minions to work on them,” Ed suggested. He had already decided he wasn’t going to focus on the hocus-pocus projects. The brass wanted wands to be one of the main projects, and while Ed technically understood why, he had no intention of subjecting himself to that nightmarish project. Fortunately, Mei had expressed her interest in it, so she was in charge. Ed almost pitied her minions.

“Don’t be like that, Brother,” Al scolded him, predictably jumping to Mei’s defence. “We’ll share the more annoying scientists.”

“They won’t last a week,” Mustang said from the table he had occupied. While he was gone, Ed and the others had revised the array and came up with some potentially useful modifications, and now he was catching up on them.

“Don’t be like that, Brigadier General,” Al said, as polite as ever.

“That’s too generous,” Teacher tacked on with one of those expressions Ed had come to fear. “I doubt they’ll last even a day.”

“Please, don’t terrify our scientific team, Mrs. Curtis,” Mustang said with one of his fake polite smiles, amusement clear in his voice.

Ed shook his head. He didn’t know what was more terrifying, the fact that Teacher had decided she liked Mustang after the Promised Day or Teacher being friends with Olivier Armstrong. Probably a mix of both, given that Mustang and Armstrong were together. Something Ed _wasn’t_ going to think about.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Ed said. “If you’re done catching up, Mustang, we’ve got more modifications to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

Rufus Scrimgeour wasn’t having the best of weeks. On Monday a strange letter had appeared inside the Minister for Magic’s office, somehow bypassing every single security ward in the Ministry. Fudge, who had been paranoid ever since his dispute with Albus Dumbledore on June, had immediately summoned the aurors to test the potential threat. The letter itself had no spells on it, and Scrimgeour had mentally snorted at its contents when he had read it out loud at Fudge’s request.

The concept of another world was laughable even for a wizard, and he would have dismissed it altogether if not for the fact that whoever had sent the letter had managed to get it all the way to Fudge’s office without the letter going through any of the security checks first.

That was how Scrimgeour had found himself casting further detection spells that afternoon —Fudge didn’t want anyone to learn that there was a way to get into his office, and had insisted on extra tests and security measures. Scrimgeour had assigned a team led by auror Kingsley Shacklebolt to check the Ministry’s security wards and ensure there were no breaches in them. Adding further security would take some time and bureaucratic leaps, though, given the different departments that would have to be involved in the task.

When Rufus returned to the Minister’s office late that evening to report that there were no security breaches and the letter truly had no trace of spells on it, he was greeted by Fudge’s positively giddy announcement that the Department of Mysteries had been studying the likelihood of other worlds existing for decades now, which gave credibility to the letter.

Aside from a greeting and general introduction by a man who called himself “Fuhrer Grumman” and claimed to be the leader of a nation named Amestris, the letter requested that if the Ministry was interested in sending a letter in response they should place it on the same spot where the first one had appeared the following Monday at ten in the morning. That was how Rufus, as head of the Auror Office, found himself spending the entire week in meetings with the Minister and the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones as they tried to compose a suitable response that conveyed the Ministry’s interest in establishing a working relationship with this wizarding society that had mastered such an impressive magic before they could.

 

* * *

 

 

“I miss the lab,” Roy muttered into the pillow. He had dropped face first on the mattress as soon as they had reached Olivier’s bedroom after a too long day of meetings with the brass. The Ministry of Magic had responded to their letter, and now they were working on the next one. The only good thing about the meetings was that the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had requested a response by next Monday, so there was a limit to how long the generals could babble. It was still too long.

Olivier snorted.

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about; you avoided the meetings over the first letter. This is a walk in the park in comparison.”

Roy turned his face enough to glance up at her.

“If it’s so bearable, then why did you spend most of the meeting glaring around the room?”

“I didn’t feel like being stuck there for dinner again.”

They had been. Despite how good the food was, there was something inherently depressing about having to eat dinner in the Command conference room because part of the brass thought it would be a terrible idea to share basic information about the structure of their country that anyone could learn from reading a couple newspapers.

And meanwhile at the laboratory they had started working on the interesting projects. Edward had tracked Roy down yesterday at lunch for the sole purpose of gushing about aeronautical engineering and laughing at Roy’s misfortune.

“At least they haven’t argued over sending someone else as diplomats,” Roy muttered, still feeling incredulous over the fact that he had come to look forward to the day they would leave. Given his and Olivier’s relevance in the government over the past three years, he knew Grumman would have wanted them involved in this one way or another. At least leaving for the wizarding world meant they would avoid a good number or brass meetings.

“They don’t have the guts,” Olivier said derisively.

Roy had to concede the point. One good thing that had come out of the Promised Day was that generals no longer underestimated Roy or looked down their noses at him, and Olivier had been terrifying generals since before Roy joined the military.

“How tired are you?” she asked.

Roy opened his eyes. He hadn’t even noticed he had closed them.

“That depends: why do you ask?”

Olivier huffed in amusement.

“You’re not a teenager, Mustang.”

“Fortunately for you,” Roy said without missing a beat. “You’d be in trouble if I was.”

Olivier walked over to the bed, her clothes discarded at some point while Roy was busy feeling miserable, and knelt next to him.

“Those meetings leave me with a lot of energy to spend,” she said, grabbing him by a shoulder.

“I guess I can help you with that,” Roy offered, and let himself be pushed onto his back.

“I thought so,” Olivier said, leaning over him.

 

* * *

 

 

Fortune was finally smiling on Cornelius Fudge. After a couple years of unfortunate events marring his tenure as Minister for Magic the opportunity to make it into the history books as one of the greatest ministers of all times had finally presented itself. The minister that opened their society to an entirely new world. He wanted to jump in excitement at the very thought of it.

A second letter had arrived from Amestris, this one speaking of a society very different to theirs and yet extremely promising. A world that somehow had managed to keep wizards and muggles together without the muggles’ ignorance and fear of magic causing a division the way it had here, and a society with a stronger military structure. Learning from them might be the answer to counter the threat that Dumbledore and his followers posed to Cornelius and the Ministry.

He was so excited that he needed to talk about this in depth with someone. Unfortunately, Dolores was already gone and dealing with the disaster that was Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s poor direction and young Percy Weasley still hadn’t proven himself trustworthy enough for such a conversation. The answer had come to Cornelius when Dolores —who Cornelius had told about this development during her weekly report— had mentioned they should start working on the arrangements to welcome and impress their potential allies once their talks went past letters. Who was better to help with such a task than a high-standing member of their society used to both politics and impressing people with impeccable taste and experience on all manners of celebrations?

Madam Bones hadn’t been very pleased at Cornelius’ suggestion that they should bring Lucius Malfoy into the efforts for the more social elements of these meetings, but Dolores had agreed that he was an excellent choice, while Rufus had remained neutral on the matter. Thus, now Cornelius was trying not to pace across his office while he waited for the time of his scheduled meeting with Mr. Malfoy. Cornelius was certain he would be very impressed with this accomplishment; he had certainly been very helpful ever since Dumbledore had shown he was losing his touch with reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reminder that I got a [tumblr](https://maisstories.tumblr.com/) for updates on my writing and the occasional drabble and one shot that I don’t post anywhere else. I love answering questions and getting any kind of support means a lot to me <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some internal struggles and talks with my partner and beta, I decided that instead of rushing to rewrite what I lost, I’m going to turn this story into a series. In my mind, this story has always been divided in very clear “parts”. When Roy and Olivier returned to Amestris, it was the end of part one, and this chapter marks the end of part two. I’ve decided to do things like this because in is the most feasible course of action with my current real life circumstances. Besides, this way I’ll be able to delve deeper into this universe than what I’d originally planned (though I’m keeping the main plotline as it was).
> 
> And [here](http://wls-arts.tumblr.com/post/168341891547/the-art-i-did-for-maisstories-royolivier-hp) is the art for the story, created by the amazing [wls-arts](http://wls-arts.tumblr.com/) on tumblr :D The pieces are chapter 1 and 2 respectively, I guess you can guess the scenes ;) Despite all the real life issues, it’s been really fun to work on this, and I hope to participate on many more events!

It had been years since Olivier had studied anything related to alchemy in any depth. She had decided at a young age that the alchemist’s path wasn’t what she wanted in life, no matter for how many generations the Armstrong family had passed down its alchemy, and she had instead chosen to enlist and focus on attaining military achievements that would overshadow every Armstrong who had come before her.

While she still held that she wasn’t interested in becoming an alchemist, she had no intention of going on this mission without having mastered the transport array beforehand. Roy was an exceptional alchemist, that was true, but there could arise a situation in which he was indisposed, and Olivier didn’t want for them to be trapped in the other world in that case. They could also be separated at some point and need to return on their own, or any other number of circumstances could require Olivier to need to use this array.

That was why she was now studying the array, and asking Roy all the necessary questions about it. It was a complex array, and Olivier wasn’t so arrogant that she couldn’t recognise she would learn faster with the assistance of someone who already knew it. Roy, as the one who had originally modified it and who would be using it the most, was the logical option.

She had kicked her family out of the house now that she was ready to start practising with the array. She didn’t want an audience or, worse yet, to have Alex trying to offer assistance. Beating him up would waste time she could have spent practising.

Roy set a pile of random objects on the large dining table next to a notebook and a few maps. He picked up a towel.

“Send this to the third guest bathroom in the ballroom area,” he said, setting the towel apart from the rest of the objects.

Nodding, Olivier reached for the pen and started drawing the array.

 

* * *

 

Roy nearly ran into a frazzled-looking assistant in the entrance of laboratory three. The man yelped and held onto the coffee pot he was holding, barely keeping it from spilling. He looked up with a decidedly annoyed expression, his mouth open as if to snap something, but froze in place when he saw Roy.

“My apologies, I wasn’t paying attention,” Roy said, looking the man up and down. Yes, he definitely looked like he could do with a day or two of sleep.

“I-It’s fine, sir,” the assistant stammered, clutching the pot tighter. “I should’ve looked.”

Roy nodded.

“Do you know where I can find Edward Elric?” he asked. Roy couldn’t say he was surprised when the man grimaced at the name. According to Alphonse, Edward wasn’t exactly patient with the other scientists, and treated them more like annoyances or little kids than colleagues.

“He’s in room 2-C, sir. I was going there right now, actually. Mr. Elric ran out of coffee...” the man trailed off bitterly. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate being relegated to running errands.

“I’ll take that to him,” Roy decided, and reached out for the coffee. “You should go home and get some rest.”

The man looked so relieved that Roy felt sorry for him. He handed the coffee pot over with none of the protests that any government employee would usually display at the idea of giving a general such a task, and then hurried out of the main door.

Shaking his head in exasperated amusement —he was _so_ glad Grumman was officially the one in charge of this project— Roy headed for the stairs. Room 2-C occupied half of the second floor of the laboratory, and Edward had taken over it from day one. The ground floor had Mrs. Curtis and her team, focusing on computer engineering, and Alphonse and his team who worked with the medical books. Mei Chan had the entire first floor, composed mainly of smaller laboratories, to work on the wands, and Edward’s own project was on the second floor.

Roy didn’t pass anyone on his way up, but once he reached room 2-C he found out that Edward wasn’t alone. There were two men bent over a table, copying something from a book on a large piece of paper. Edward himself was sitting at the top of a high ladder and writing equations on one of the many blackboards he had placed all over the room.

“Tell me you’re not exploiting your team,” Roy said as a way of greeting. He saw the two men jump in place, but Edward proved he wasn’t too absorbed by his work by turning around in place.

“Like you’re one to talk. I’ve worked for you, asshole.”

The two men looked at Edward with wide eyes, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Roy pretended he hadn’t noticed them.

“Does that mean you don’t want this?” he asked, raising the coffee pot so Edward would notice it.

Predictably Edward rushed down the stairs.

“Hand that over,” he demanded, holding a hand out. Up close, the dark circles under his eyes were very noticeable.

“How long have you been awake?” Roy asked him suspiciously, holding onto the coffee.

Edward shrugged.

“Dunno. What time is it?”

“Way past midnight. It’s Wednesday.”

Edward paled.

“Crap.”

“How much trouble are you in?” Roy asked, smirking in amusement.

“Winry is going to kill me.” Edward said without a trace of doubt. Roy had seen him at the Armstrong Estate for dinner on Sunday, which gave him a very good guess of how long Edward had been here.

“Let me guess, you left on Monday and haven’t even called?”

Edward shrugged, his eyes going to the coffee.

“It’d be a terrible idea if I took that and stayed a few more hours, wouldn’t it?”

“An extra spanner to the head, I’d say.”

Edward sighed, glanced up at his equations, then back at the coffee.

“I’m probably getting that spanner anyway. She’s always asleep by now with the baby,” he said, nodded to himself, and reached out for the pot again.

Roy handed it over this time, and followed Edward to the small table with clean mugs piled on it.

“Maybe you should send your team home. They look ready to pass out,” Roy suggested. Edward blinked, and Roy had the sudden certainty that he had completely forgotten he wasn’t alone before Roy arrived.

“Oh, right. You guys can leave that for tomorrow,” Edward said, turning to the two men for a moment before reaching out for a cup. They wasted no time in obeying, stopping only to mark the book page and grab their things. Roy wondered if they had been here since Monday as well. “What’re you doing here anyway?” Edward asked. He filled his cup and reached for the sugar. He still refused to drink milk, but had decided that military-issue coffee was much more bearable with an unhealthy amount of sugar in it.

“I have a job for Sheska,” Roy explained, reaching for a cup himself. “The brass has _finally_ agreed on some basic information for me and Olivier to take to the meetings, and we need someone to compile a file on it. I figured she’d be the best candidate for the job.” Roy set the cup down and brought out the list of requirements the brass had agreed on. “I have some instructions for her here.”

“Aha. That doesn’t explain why you’re _here_ ; you could’ve given that to Al or Mei in the morning, you know they stick to a normal schedule. Teacher too.”

“Yes, but then I’d have no excuse to drop by the lab,” Roy said. He offered the document to Edward, who took it with a snort.

“Don’t change anything,” Edward said, pushing the coffee pot at Roy.

Roy nodded, holding back a relieved sigh. He really needed to stimulate his brain somehow in between endless meetings. Aside from teaching Olivier the array, he had done little more than sit through stuffy meeting after stuffy meeting for weeks.

“I’ll just point out any mistakes.”

Edward snorted.

“You wish, Mustang.”

 

* * *

 

Olivier stepped out of the bathroom to find that Roy hadn’t moved from his spot on the bed. She had woken him earlier, but now he was back to sleep.

“Mustang,” Olivier said, approaching the bed. Roy mumbled something unintelligible. “Mustang!”

“Mmhhh? Lemme sleep,” he said into the pillow, eyes closed.

Olivier rolled her eyes.

“Get up, we’re due for a meeting in under an hour.”

“’M tired.”

Olivier stopped next to his side of the bed, grabbed the pillow and _pulled_. Roy was holding onto it so tightly that she ended up dragging him halfway out of bed.

“Up. Now.”

“Oh, come on,” he complained, sounding far more awake. He forced his eyes open and squinted at Olivier. “You know they’ll just bicker about how much we should boast of our military achievements. Grumman’ll eventually say to keep it down to avoid appearing threatening. You don’t need me there.”

Olivier raised her eyebrows. It was sort of impressive how Roy could go from sleepy mumbles to perfectly coherent in under a second.

“When did you get back?” she asked, because he rarely complained _this much_ about having to get up for a meeting.

“...What time is it?”

“Just past seven.”

“Then around an hour ago.”

Olivier snorted. She really should have expected this when Roy said he would go leave the instructions at the laboratory last night.

“It’s your fault you spent the night up going over whatever distracted you. Now get out of bed before I drag you.”

 

* * *

 

Since Dolores had left for Hogwarts, Cornelius had arranged to have the letters delivered to and sent from her office. It had taken some persuasion on his part, but Dolores had eventually agreed to have her office be the meeting room for these talks, which meant it had to be significantly modified. Lucius had kindly provided a long list of suggestions for the reception, once a date was scheduled, and Cornelius had ensured that a team of house elves would see them ready by the time their guests arrived.

Fuhrer Grumman had informed Cornelius in his last letter that he already had decided on who to send for the talks; Lieutenant General Armstrong and Brigadier General Mustang, whom he had described as two of his best generals. Unfortunately, Grumman hadn’t provided any details on these generals that might help Cornelius cause a good first impression, which meant he only had his wit and some trustworthy advice to rely on.

Cornelius was drawn from his thoughts by the arrival of auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and his team. Rufus had handpicked them to be in charge of their guests’ security, but first they had to cast all the necessary wards in the room.

 

* * *

 

Olivier glanced across the table, taking in every plate set out there, and thought one of the spells she had to master before their departure. Four plates shone a dim shade of purple, signalling that they contained a poisonous substance. She glanced up at Catherine, who smiled widely at her.

“You found all of them, Sister!”

“Good,” Olivier said, nodding to herself. That was one spell she could cross from the list of necessary defensive magic she and Roy had compiled. “Your turn, Mustang,” she said, turning her head to look at him. Olivier pretended she didn’t notice the disapproving purse of Catherine’s lips when she used Roy’s surname. Her family didn’t like that she rarely used Roy’s given name and they made a point of showing it. It was because of some bullshit about couples and being more personal.

“Yours are over here, Roy,” Catherine said, gesturing to the other end of the table. She threw Olivier a pointed look and Olivier rolled her eyes in return. Catherine may be shy with strangers, but she had relaxed around Roy a while ago and behaved with him the same way she did with any of her siblings.

 

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his office, going over Kingsley’s latest report to the Order. Kingsley had learnt about the letters Fudge was exchanging with a leader from another world weeks ago, but today he had come back with two interesting pieces of information. Fudge had let it out that Lucius Malfoy knew of this operation, despite the fact that it was kept to the strictest of secrecy, which meant that Tom knew. Now Albus was waiting for Severus so they could talk about how to use this information to further Tom’s trust in him.

As he waited, Albus thought about the second piece of information that Kingsley had brought: the names of their visitors, Armstrong and Mustang.

It was no wonder they had refused Albus’ help if they were who he believed them to be, and it would be an incredible coincidence if they weren’t.

Albus had worried about this large development ever since learning of it and the apparent militaristic nature of this nation, because a society like that could have a decisive effect on the war if they took part in it. He was still worried, of course, but he had a better feeling about things now. Olivier Armstrong and Roy Mustang had already proven that they had no issues helping muggles, and they had displayed a considerable amount of muggle knowledge in the way they had handled themselves back in summer, which didn’t align with the typical characteristics of Death Eaters or blood purity supremacists.

Albus felt a small amount of petty satisfaction when he remembered Armstrong’s first words during their meeting. Fudge was completely unaware that he had already made a bad first impression on his potential allies.

 

* * *

 

Roy closed his suitcase and shrank it with a wave of his wand, the spell effortless after months of practice to ensure magic came to him nearly as easily as alchemy did. Truthfully, convincing himself to stop questioning every spell and grimacing at them had proven considerably more difficult than learning the spells themselves. Roy’s only comfort was that everybody who knew about magic —and who had the brain cells to stop to think about it— shared his discomfort with the lack of scientific principles behind it. Edward could still be caught muttering about it when he was particularly frustrated, and Alphonse approached his efforts of learning it with a mix of childish curiosity and scientific pain. Mrs. Curtis had decided to stop trying to explain it to herself altogether, and Olivier shared this mindset. The one most comfortable working with magic so far was Mei Chan, who had a much more philosophical approach to science than any Amestrian alchemist did.

“Are you done?” Roy asked, turning to the dressing room. He pocketed his tiny suitcase.

“Almost,” Olivier replied. There was some rummaging and she walked out into the bedroom, carrying three uniforms and a beautiful long green party dress that her mother must have bought recently, because Roy hadn’t seen it before. “You’d better have packed a suit, because if I ever have to wear this thing you’re not getting away with your dress uniform,” she muttered, and dropped the clothes next to her half-full suitcase.

“I did, don’t worry. I don’t have a death wish.”

Olivier raised a sceptical eyebrow at him, but kept any comments to herself.

Roy turned to put on the coat of his dress uniform, then reached for his various medals. The brass had insisted that Roy and Olivier should arrive at the Ministry of Magic in full formal regalia as a way to show that they were decorated officers and that Amestris took these diplomatic negotiations seriously. The only part of the uniform they wouldn’t wear were their caps; Olivier hated wearing hers, as it pushed her hair into her face in a very uncomfortable way, and nobody wanted to argue such a small point with her of all people.

Roy raised a hand to his head, but stopped himself before he could run it through his hair. He had slicked it back, and he didn’t have much time to fix it if he ruined it now. They were on a tight schedule, everything for their arrival already planned out.

“Nervous, Mustang?” Olivier asked. Roy turned and found her already clad in her own dress uniform, her suitcase nowhere to be seen.

“Somewhat,” Roy admitted. One didn’t go on a diplomatic mission to another world every day, and diplomacy itself was a very new policy in Amestris.

“You shouldn’t be. This is nothing compared to Ishval, and you handled that well.”

“Is that encouragement I hear, Lieutenant General?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Olivier said, surprising Roy. He had expected her to deny it, as was her custom whenever she complimented him in any way and Roy drew attention to it.

Roy mock-saluted her and Olivier snorted.

“Let’s go,” she said, turning to the bedroom door.

 

* * *

 

A conference room close to Fuhrer Grumman’s office had been designated as the departure and arrival location for generals Mustang and Armstrong. Al had drawn, then double and triple-checked the array in the middle of it to send them off. While Brigadier General Mustang could clap his hands to use it, Lieutenant General Armstrong had been very adamant on her refusal to appear at the Ministry of Magic in general Mustang’s arms, and neither of them fancied appearing there while crouching on the floor, so Al would be the one to activate it.

While their presence was unnecessary, the entirety of the brass had insisted on being here for the event, and so were Ed, Mei, Teacher and some of the scientists who had expressed interest in seeing the array in use. Today was a day off at the lab, because Winry had an appointment with the doctor for a routine check-up later in the day and Al had suggested they could all take advantage of Ed’s absence to take a break.

Ed hadn’t been very happy by the implications of Al’s suggestion, but Winry had latched onto the idea and decided she and Ed would go shopping for the baby now that she was entering the third trimester of her pregnancy. Usually, Ed wasn’t very fond of shopping, but he was clearly excited by the idea. In fact, he was going over the list of suggestions Winry had compiled with Mrs. Hughes’ help now as they waited for generals Mustang and Armstrong.

Al couldn’t wait for the baby to be born. Not only would he be an uncle, but he would get to tease Ed endlessly when he acted all dad-like. Al knew that Ed would be a fantastic dad.

The door opened and Lieutenant General Armstrong walked in followed by Brigadier General Mustang. They were both dressed in the formal version of their uniforms, by all appearances without any luggage save for Lieutenant General Armstrong’s sword, though Al knew they must have shrank it —and he doubted he would ever grow used to what magic could do, no matter how much he studied or used it.

“Oh, here they are,” Fuhrer Grumman said with an enthusiastic grin, the one Ed called his mad old geezer grin (and yes, Ed had said this around military personnel, much to said personnel’s horror over his disregard for the Fuhrer). “I had a speech ready, but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate it.”

General Armstrong rolled her eyes, while General Mustang smiled in amusement.

“I believe we’ve heard enough speeches to last us a lifetime,” he said, much to the Fuhrer’s amusement and the annoyance of a couple generals. General Mustang had made it no secret in private that he abhorred the amount of speeches the members of the brass had given in the meetings of the past two months, and apparently some of the other generals were aware of it.

“Of course, of course,” the Fuhrer said, nodding in understanding. “Then I believe all I’ll do is wish you good luck. Alphonse?” he asked, turning to Al.

Al nodded.

“Everything’s ready,” he confirmed. “Here are Sheska’s reports,” he said, offering a tiny pouch to Brigadier General Mustang. In it he had put all of the reports the brass had approved from the admittedly immense pile of them that Sheska had written when she received the assignment. General Mustang accepted it and put it away in one of the inner pockets of his coat.

The generals walked into the array and settled in the predetermined positions, with Brigadier General Mustang standing a step behind Lieutenant General Armstrong, a standard for officers of a lower rank that Al knew they rarely bothered to stick to.

“Books, Mustang,” Ed demanded rudely. Al held back a sigh, long since used to the fact that Ed and General Mustang’s friendship would never be free of rudeness and jabs at one another.

“Of course. Try not to kill anyone while we’re gone,” General Mustang replied easily, earning a few discreet disapproving looks from other generals.

“Activate this thing, Elric,” Lieutenant General Armstrong ordered, not bothering to wait for Fuhrer Grumman to give the order.

Al stepped forward and crouched down next to the array. He looked up at Brigadier General Mustang and smiled.

“Have fun with the wizards, sir,” he said politely right before activating the array.

Ed cackled behind him.

** Part I - End **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m marking this story as completed and, as you can see, I’ve created a (very lamely titled) series. I expect to start posting the second part by early January.
> 
> For updates on how the story is going, check on my [tumblr](https://maisstories.tumblr.com/) :)


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